


Quid Pro Quo

by PinstripesAndConverse



Category: City of Love: Paris (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Vincent Karm, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake Marriage Only Not Really, In which politics happen and cause problems, Marriage of Convenience, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Rating May Change, Rating will PROBABLY DEFINITELY change, Slow Burn, Slow-ish Burn really, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-06 07:18:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 71,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14051802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/PinstripesAndConverse
Summary: She wanted to stay in Paris; Vincent Karm wanted to reinvent his image.  A mere business arrangement in the form of “I do” and a set of rings.  The last thing either of them expected was for the line to blur, for the lie and façade to fall somewhere along the way, and leave them facing an unspoken truth.  MC is named.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Exactly what it looks like. Occasional swearing.

Sophia paced the cell, one incredibly familiar to her by now.  The walls had the same markings as the one she was originally put in back when Hugo arrested her the first time.  Same ugly color, same flat mattress and itchy blanket, same awful lack of privacy for plumbing.

How had she let this happen?

How could she have been so _stupid_ as to let her visa expire?  To not have considered that her global travels would impact her ability to stay in the country she now considered her home?  She worked for City of Love again; Raphael offered her a chance to take up a new position that she was settling into well.  As her old (and current) boss, he knew she was an asset; as her ex-fiancé, he probably couldn’t care less if she stayed or not.

Basic employment, no plans to attend a graduate program, and staying on an expired visa and residency card.  And then submitting paperwork for citizenship.  She wanted to kick herself for being so stupid.

It didn’t help that her home country was making a mess for other people with immigration reform and other countries were retaliating in kind.  She’d thought she’d made the cut-off but from what she had gathered from Hugo on the car ride over, they were searching for those who, like her, might not have met their time requirements first after the flood of applications.

Arrested for a third time on a technicality.

Sophia hesitated but called Raphael first; he was her longest employer in France after all, and had made sure she was set when he first hired her.  She thought perhaps he could help.  He seemed hardly concerned at all, distracted even, until she mentioned she would eventually be escorted to a plane with a one-way ticket home that he snapped out of his own head.  He said he was on his way to catching a flight to the Tokyo office and wasn’t sure what help he could offer.

“Perhaps you should have considered the ramifications before you packed up and left nothing behind but a box and a note,” he snapped.  “I offered you a job again because you’re good at what you do, because you’re talented, not to bail you out.  We both have our faults.  But I can’t help you.”

 _He’s right_.  Her eyes traced the worn keypads on the phone.   _Never thought I’d live to see the day he admits some fault but damn does it hurt that he’s right…_

“Right, well, sorry to have bothered you,” she said bitingly.  “It’s still a habit.”

A lie.  A lie they both knew very well; that habit died the day she visited Vincent in prison and left the country the first time two years prior.

There was silence except for the loudspeaker in the background.  After a moment, Raphael said, “Contact the Legal department at the magazine.  If anything, they’ll have copies of stuff on file or be able to advise you somehow.”

He hung up on her before she could thank him.

So, she did as he suggested.  The department was of no help.

Louise was next, but just as unhelpful.  Sarah didn’t have the strings to do much.  Tristan was on tour.  TJ in Milan.  Leo was out of the question; he was a civil servant now that Henri had won the election and kept his small staff.  She exhausted her contacts before she was escorted back to her cell where she paced, ate the subpar food, and glared at Hugo when he came to check on her before he left for the morning.  

She passed Marion in the common area but the blonde had none of her contacts, not after being tried for murder.  They didn’t see eye to eye on many things but it was a comfort to know she could sit with someone during meals or when she wasn’t trying to get out of this hellhole.

But nothing.  This time, there was no flood to assist her.  

No Vincent Karm to wave a hand and free her…

Vincent!  Of course!  

No one else she knew held the sway to get her out of here or held any sort of power to influence the bureaucracy.  She didn’t want Henri wrapped up in another scandal, either; he was mayor now, after all.

Vincent had been exonerated after Parisian life returned to normal, the judges buying his dramatics on saving Paris and helping the greater good.  That he had a record of charity donations and no other known criminal activities worked in his favor. 

Twice now, she had relied on him.

Sophia called for Hugo and was met with a deadpan officer who barely grunted when she asked about a phone call.  He unlocked her cell and escorted her to the phone booth and stood by as she dialed a number she hoped was still good.

* * *

“Karm International.”

She’d know Eugene’s voice anywhere.  He sounded extra peppy for some reason, almost eerily so, despite the hour.  It was far past operating hours, at least for a corporation.  Perhaps Vincent had Eugene screening his calls.

“Hi, Eugene.”

Sophia faked a smile and swallowed her anxiety and fear.  She hated this place and the guard with his gaze on her thighs.  Stupid her had to go and wear a skirt and blouse to work.  She briefly wondered if she would have suffered similar treatment had she been in prison longer than a few hours the first two times.  

“Miss Cousland! What was with the message about charges for the call? You’re in prison?!”

“It’s a long, political story, I’ll spare you the details.  Is Vincent there?”

The manservant paused and she heard a muffled conversation in French.

“You’re making a habit of turning me into your knight in dark armor, Miss Cousland.”  

A chill ran up her spine as his voice echoed in her ear.  She had forgotten how cruel and cold he could sound when it suited him.  He must have been busy then, he usually at least tried to be pleasant; he was annoyed rather than amused at her call.

“Is that such a bad thing?” She replied, averting her eyes from the guard as she tried to disarm Vincent.  She missed his verbal jabs and flirting and innuendo, as much as she found it annoying to sift through. He was right, after all; he wouldn’t be who he was without them.

Missing a criminal.  Of the all the things she could have ever considered for her future.

“What happened?”  

“They’re arresting Americans whose visas expired; I forgot to renew mine while my citizenship application is being processed. I left the country for almost two years, so that puts my case on hold. I might never get citizenship because of that but because of this...retaliation, I can’t renew my visa, either.”

She cut herself off before she could ramble further, knowing Vincent would only enjoy dragging this out.

Vincent let out a breath through his nose and gave a faint sound of frustration.  It was kind of sexy, actually, but she brought her thoughts back to the present and to her surroundings when she realized she was thinking about the unresolved tension between them.

That kiss had been amazing and she was kicking herself for not inviting him upstairs that night, exhaustion be damned.

Their silence was broken when he chuckled darkly, possibly enjoying the idea of her being indebted to him.  TJ had warned her years ago but she wasn’t in a position to do much else.  His earlier mood was gone, replaced with a solemnity, as if understanding she wouldn’t call him on a whim, not without understanding what that entailed.

“You’ll owe me, Sophia Cousland.”

 _Could you not sound so damn gleeful about it?_  She thought, a frown tugging at her lips.

“I know.”

“I’ll be over in less than an hour with a lawyer.”

“Okay,” Sophia paused.  “Vincent?”

“ _Oui, ma cherie?_ ”

“ _Merci_.”

She placed the receiver back in its cradle before she heard him reply and returned to her cell.  

He needed to stop calling her that.  She hated that her heart beat just a little quicker every time he did.

* * *

Vincent was already sitting and conversing with the lawyer when Hugo brought her into the visitor room.  How the tables had turned in almost a year.

“Fifteen minutes.  It’s all I can offer,” the inspector said before he closed the door behind him, no doubt watching from the two-way mirror.

Sophia’s blue eyes were locked on the door for a moment before she turned back to the two men at the table.

She was introduced to the lawyer, Vincent’s personal attorney Julian Morean, and the reality of her situation was laid out in front of her.

“DeValois’s plan of a Paris for Parisians reached higher government and they decided the immigration upheaval in the US to be a good place to start with implementing it,” the attorney began.

He was younger than she expected him to be, now that she truly looked at him.  Grey eyes so cold she had to suppress a shiver from meeting them. His light brown hair was short but meticulously styled, and she could see the sheen of product among the strands to keep them in place.  He gazed at her with something colder than indifference that had nothing to do with the sudden meeting.

He was probably the one who defended Vincent and protected him before and during his prison sentence.  His dislike of her made sense, if that was the case.

“But isn’t the President…”

“This is Parliament’s decision, and it’s far more popular in other areas of the country outside of the capital. Apparently no one learned nothing good comes of things like this, limiting the migration of people, eighty years ago.”

Sophia scoffed softly.  She understood the reference well enough. Her plight was nowhere as bad as it was for those fleeing for their lives.  She just wouldn’t be allowed to come back for long periods of time. Or stay. She’d be shipped back to America, never to see her friends again.

“Saving Paris earns you points but it’s not enough to sway the committee on whether or not you stay.  A trial could take years and they’ll deport everyone long before those dates happen.  And once you leave, you’re blacklisted.  You’re only able to come back for a layover or to pass through the country on your way elsewhere.”

“This is bullshit,” she hissed, glaring at the mirror before turning back to the lawyer.  “So the years I’ve spent here, working, mean nothing?”

“Not necessarily,” Vincent said, leaning back in his seat.

He kept his face blank as she turned her attention to him, frustrating her all the more.  She’d had little sleep and when she wasn’t awake on the phone, she was harnessing her anger for when she could verbally assault whoever caused this mix-up.

She didn’t want games.  But she had called him and he had come.  She was going to have to play for now.

A piece of paper and a pen were placed in front of her.  Sophia would recognize Vincent’s handwriting anywhere. 

Her blue eyes gazed up at Vincent with whatever anger she had left in her but he remained unfazed and merely straightened his waistcoat.

“What is this?”  

“A contract.  Legally binding once both of you sign it.”  The lawyer said.

Her eyes scanned the paper as her brain translated slowly.

 _No.  No no no.  This is_ coercion.   _A marriage of convenience isn’t a marriage at all._  

Marriage within two months, clauses regarding no responsibilities other than to maintain public appearances and general well-being.  Other partners outside of the arrangement were allowed as long as they passed a background test and discretion was used.  Life would go on as normal, for the most part.  The marriage could be dissolved after a certain amount of years and she would be given a worthy lump sum of alimony to live off of if that happened, after the time requirement was met.

 _This is_ insanity. _He hasn’t changed a bit.  Why am I not surprised he would do something like this?_

“It’s only legally binding when it’s on a certificate,” Sophia muttered, her eyes glued to the paper before she looked at Vincent.  “Can I speak to you alone?”

The attorney seemed hesitant but left the room after Vincent nodded.

“If I wanted this to be my way out, I’d marry Hugo,” she started.

“Inspector Dubois wouldn’t do it.  It would risk his career, the one thing he holds dearer than his brother,” Vincent shot back.  “And you would never let yourself marry Raphael.”

“Louise is single.  Plenty of people to choose from.”

“Marriage is your quickest option out of here, Miss Cousland.  I understand I’m far from ideal in what you’d want from a spouse but I offer no obligations beyond maintaining appearances.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes at him.  Vincent Karm was a confirmed bachelor.  Forty-one years old with an unknown number of partners but no one ever serious enough to have their name released to the public.  Often seen alone at events but crowded by women most of the evening.  He _enjoyed_ being alone.  No one would give that up willingly unless love was involved.

And then there was...his Tuesday night activities.

“You _need_ to be married otherwise you wouldn’t be here.  You don’t do anything without a reason.”

He gave a smirk, one she rarely saw in all of her dealings with him.  It was sardonic, rather than scheming or amused.  “It would be a good way to reinvent my image and the image of my company.  Marry the woman who saved Paris from my cunning plans.  It goes without saying we make a good team.”

It _would_ make a good PR piece.  She couldn’t exactly blame him there.  He was back in charge of his company but even one toe out of line would send his board of directors into a fit of rage.  Marrying, settling down into another role, would make him seem as if he had turned over a new leaf. 

But she still knew so little about him.  Not at all like she imagined her marriage would be.  She expected to know the little things about her partner, how they preferred their coffee, their favorite meals, how their arms would feel around her.

But what choice did she have?  Her entire life was in Paris now.  Going back to America would mean starting again, adjusting to a new set of rules and way of life.  

He walked a thin line with her, played with her because he knew she was capable of keeping up with him.  The death threat stuck out in the back of her mind but ever since the essence, ever since her absence, something changed between them.  They flirted out of mutual respect, compliments playful but genuine.  He was smart, more than capable.  Perhaps more than she deserved, when she considered her status in life.  

They shared a bond she didn’t have with anyone else.  He helped her catch Marion and bring an end to her vengeful search.  Helped her put Kat to rest.  That meant something, at least.  Their kiss had been passionate, the memory lingering again, her lips tingling as she remembered what it had felt like to grab his tie and kiss him, stun him for once.

 _Would it truly be that bad?_ Sophia thought, taking a moment to watch him as his eyes wandered the room.   _He’s...an odd choice, but at least I’d know where I stood with him.  I can be frank with him and expect it in return_.   _But is that enough?  Can I be happy with this arrangement?_

She could feel herself relenting a little but pushed him again, gently saying, “We hardly know each other.”

 _That_ was something he seemed to understand instantly.  He wouldn’t put himself in this position if he wasn't sure he could handle the outcome, if he didn’t trust her.  How far he had come.  But her truth earned a slow nod and she watched as he thought about his next words carefully.

“I’m not capable of promising happiness, Sophia.  But I can promise respect, admiration, and a willingness to learn and adapt.”

“The clause about...is this an _open_ marriage? Or just a way to continue your…”

“If you want it to be. With discretion and safety, obviously.  And no.  That was...one of the few things I stopped when I regained my position, sadly.  The clause would apply to both of us but I wouldn’t...partake in something I couldn’t guarantee silence on.”

He _did_ look a bit disappointed; he was a hedonist, she shouldn’t have been surprised that he was annoyed at cutting ties with things he liked.  And yet she found part of her was hurt by that clause, for some reason.  That he either didn’t want her or he wanted to keep his options open.  Perhaps he was attracted to multiple genders.  Unless he didn’t like women at all, in which case, she’d understand.

He was attractive, perhaps a bit severe looking, but she didn’t want any marriage she had to be a lie, in full or in part.

“I know I’m bisexual and that I flirt a lot but when I commit myself to someone, I don’t half-ass it, Vincent,” she leaned forward and put her elbows on the table.  “That you would-“

He held up a hand to stop her from continuing but met her gaze firmly.  “You act as though you’re the only one in this room to be as such.”

Something in her head clicked and her blue eyes widened.  “I suspected, but…”

“It’s there for both of us, because I don’t want to force anything on you that you don’t want.  I care little for how people speculate on my personal life but I will not cage you and ask you to restrict yourself for my sake.  I only ask that discretion and contraceptives be used,” he looked away, frowning.  “I will not raise another man’s child as my own and allow myself to be used in such a way, nor you becoming ill because of carelessness.”

“Do you expect children?”

“I don’t, but it can be arranged, if you would want that. I don’t expect any intimacy of any kind, physical, emotional, or otherwise..”

He looked at her again and she felt her heart crack a little.  How could someone so driven by the darkness in others, the sordid parts of humanity, be so willing to give that up, not _want_ to force her or expect it?  He could receive it elsewhere, she knew, but to have a marriage like that…a business arrangement, to merely tolerate the other person rather than love them...

To be able to do that...give up potential happiness in finding love just to further guarantee his position in life…

That’s what she would be doing.  What they’d both be giving up. 

Wasn’t he a romantic at heart?  He’d said as much himself before she departed Paris so long ago.  She felt her heart crack a little more.  If he’d given up on such possibilities, he hid it very well.  The gesture was incredibly selfless, when she considered what he would be giving up in exchange for much-needed positive publicity.

She must have made a face because he amended his statement.

“Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a rough and tumble with you.”  Vincent flashed her a grin, a fleeting moment of their precious encounter.  “Something to discuss later on, perhaps.  I just don’t want to go into this with preconceived notions for either of us.  This isn’t an ideal situation.  But it _is_ the fastest way to fixing this mess.”

One thing that bothered her most was how, of all the single people she knew, it was her previous enemy who was offering her help. She had called him, yes, but he didn’t have to do this.  It felt to her as though he was giving up something incredibly personal to help her.

Several personal things, really.

If she was going to get married, she was going to commit to making it work.  She couldn’t stand to be married to someone she could barely tolerate.

At least she knew who she was dealing with.  She could adapt.

“We’re friends, aren’t we, Vincent? Or have the capacity to be?”  She mentally winced at how pathetic she sounded.  He was already giving her so much just for citizenship, what right did she have to ask for more?

Silence grew between them but neither shifted, neither uncomfortable with the idea.

“In time,” he whispered.  “For some, that’s the best one can hope for in a marriage of convenience.  It would be a lie to say I’m not fond of you and I don’t play games with those I like.”

That was enough for her.  She wasn’t sure what, exactly, she saw in his eyes.  Nothing devious, surprisingly; rather, it was something akin to hope, she thought, or perhaps the knowledge that _something_ kept bringing them together.  She’d never hated him, he kept her on her toes, kept her thinking.  Maybe he did see potential, just in a different perspective from hers; who was she to assume what he would be looking for in a marriage partner, really?  

Whatever it was, it was _human_.  A rare glimpse at the man, not the persona, of Vincent Karm.

She meant what she said; she committed herself to seeing things through.  This would be no different.

Sophia picked up the pen and signed her name, initialled by each clause.  “I won’t need anyone else.  I couldn’t bring myself to do that, knowing the ramifications.  Not to mention it just gets complicated.”

If she was to be celibate, so be it.  She wouldn’t live a lie.  It would feel like throwing what he was offering to her back in his face.

She slid the paper over to him, his fingers brushing hers as he took the pen.  

“That’s a bridge we can cross when we get there,” he murmured, signing in a flourish of a V and a K and a scribble in-between each.  “Your citizenship comes first.”

The attorney came back in and signed the contract as well, and mentioned filing for a marriage certificate first thing tomorrow.  He turned to Sophia and asked if she had a pending citizenship application.

“I submitted it three months ago,” she replied.

“That you were arrested means it reached review.  I’ll find your case manager and expedite it once everything has been officiated and a copy of the signed license is obtained.  Preferably as soon as possible.  You’ll be released and required to check in with an Inspector until your citizenship test.”

Sophia nodded, feeling numb.  Was this how Ariel felt when she gave away her voice?  She somehow expected Vincent to be grinning but he wasn’t.  

She signed her papers and collected her things at processing.  Her once-enemy-now-fiancé lingered in the background, scowling at the guards and occasionally at Hugo, who gave the look back ten-fold.  The inspector came over to her when she was finished, glancing over her shoulder once before looking at her.

“Are you sure about this, Cousland?”

“I know what I’m getting into, Hugo.  You trusted my judgement with Kat’s case.  Trust me again, okay?”

They hugged, an odd gesture for a cop and their arrestee, and followed Vincent and another cop out of the building.

She knew no one would understand.  She wasn’t foolish enough to think explaining it would help.  Kat once told her that a choice only had to make sense to her, even if no one else understood it.  And this made sense.  Would make more sense if she wasn’t about to marry her once-enemy, but with the terms up front, she could avoid what had happened with Raphael.

Vincent was obtuse sometimes but only for effect.  She knew him well enough to know he liked when she asked him to be upfront and forthcoming.  He liked that she knew what she wanted out of any situation.  She doubted anyone ever bothered to see through him enough to _ask_.

No bullshit.  He liked his games but they were just that: games.  He said so himself.  He liked enough to drop them.  That was something.

They spoke little in the car ride back to her apartment other than to arrange meetings for the week to finalize plans.  He walked her upstairs, much to her surprise, but didn’t come inside or insist on it.  Instead, he asked for the ring she often wore on her left hand, promising to return it to her tomorrow.  

Right.  Rings. 

An awkward moment passed before he settled on giving her a kiss on her cheek outside of her door.  He wished her a good night and as she closed the door, she briefly wondered if she would ever get used to him saying her name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive any inaccuracies in the technicalities as far as paperwork/timelines of paperwork. Several different sources were consulted in finding explanations; I didn’t want to get too stuck on details but didn’t want to not include specifics either.

Sophia stared at the open box in front of her, not quite sure how to feel.

If she was hesitant or unsure whether this was real, the ring and its matching band solidified it for her.  It was beautiful in every way but a part of her wished it was being given under different circumstances.  Circumstances that involved knowing someone intimately, spending years building something together.  They’d discussed a general outline of goals for this…arrangement.  That was as close to genuine understanding as she was going to get.

The ring was beautiful, sure to catch anyone’s eye.  A round one-and-a-quarter carat solitaire with a small halo of diamonds surrounding it, the band braided on both sides, smaller diamonds inlaid into sections of the band.  

The wedding band dipped slightly to accommodate its partner but bore the same pavé as the larger ring.  Vincent’s band was plain, slim; it offset the signet ring he often wore, either on this thumb or middle finger, depending on the day.

She wouldn’t have wanted a larger stone.  She was a journalist, always getting her hands dirty, sometimes literally.  But it  _was_  large enough to make a statement.  It was much more…personalized than the ring Raphael had given her, too.

_Oh, crap.  He’s in for a surprise when he gets back…_

The paper she’d signed was essentially a pre-nuptial; before they’d left her apartment, Vincent texted her a list of documentation and her head spun.  Her passport, proof of domicile-any bill for housing would work, and a birth certificate; they would need to get her a certificate of celibacy, an affidavit of law saying the marriage would be recognized by the US and that she was free to marry outside of the country, and medical certification.

They would spend the rest of the afternoon planning as much as possible.

“I thought you said this was the  _quickest_  way,” she quipped when she handed him the file in the car.

“It is.  A marriage at least gives you security and shows your commitment to staying.  Besides, you aren’t in jail anymore; half of the battle is over.”

 _The amount of paperwork involved says otherwise_ , Sophia thought.

“What’s with the certificate of celibacy?”  The words slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to think twice and she hadn’t had time to search for it on her phone beforehand.

He quirked an eyebrow at her.  “Isn’t that standard?”

“Most people  _do_ , in fact, sleep with their fiancé prior to…”

Amusement danced in his eyes as he laughed softly, a sound slightly different than the chuckle she was so used to.

“It simply proves you’re single and eligible for marriage,” he said after a beat.  “Other countries call it a certificate of no impediment to marriage.”

She nodded, silently berating herself for not recognizing that celibacy had multiple meanings beyond refraining from sex.

They spent the better part of the morning in the embassy, Sophia on autopilot as she went through the motions of filling out her information.

“Why is there a timeframe on certain documents like a birth certificate?”  She asked, head bowed over the clipboard, Vincent gazing around the busy room.  “That doesn’t make sense…”

She didn’t have to glance at him to know he was bored.

Rather than directly answer her, he opened the small portfolio he’d had in the car and pulled out his own birth certificate.  She looked over to find him holding a thin book, roughly the size of a standard travel pamphlet.  The cover was blue velvet and stamped with “Ville de Paris” and “livret de famille”.

“Yours have to be translated into French and put into proper matching forms. The timeframe simply means within three months of that occurring, in this case your information being written into one of these.  It’s an extra way to keep public records and another form of identification.  Other events in a person’s life are recorded in a single document; marriage and subsequent children are dated and documented in it after it’s given to a couple after the civil ceremony by the mayor or fitting authority.”

He opened it and she saw handwritten pages detailing his birth information.

He’d explained that too on the way over, the difference in ceremonies.  Civil ceremonies had to be performed by a mayor or other civil authority in the town they would marry in prior to any other kind of ceremony.  Which meant Paris.  Which meant Henri or his staff.

They’d find out anyway, she knew, but the situation was simply…awkward.  It was partially due to Henri’s policy ideas that she was in this mess to begin with.  She felt the eyes of the consulate employee on them occasionally but whether it was out of recognizing Vincent Karm or because they weren’t acting like a conventional couple, she wasn’t sure.

She didn’t entirely care.

“You don’t have to change your name,” Vincent said, giving her a sidelong look.  “Part of your work is based on name recognition.”

“Would be a little silly for us to be referred to by different names in the press.  Not to mention it would give an appearance of solidarity.  Me keeping my name looks like I plan to walk away the second I can.”

After a moment, he asked evenly, “And would you?  Walk away?”

A question she didn’t have an answer to, not really.  An option she hadn’t even considered.  The pre-nup specified five to align with the typical time it would take for her to get citizenship and she was certain that superseded if they dropped her requirement for two due to her role in saving Paris.

Five years was a long time to spend in the presence of Vincent Karm.

She’d already spent two years abroad trying and failing to get him out of her head.

“I said I would commit myself to making the most of this,” she said, rolling the pen between her fingers as she considered her words.  “And I think you know me enough by now to know I don’t just give up.”

“No, you don’t.”

They left it at that as she finished the paperwork and received the necessary forms from the Consulate.  The rest of the morning was spent getting the rest of her paperwork completed, doing applications, and coming up with who to use as witnesses-Eugene volunteered when she paled and realized no one she knew would agree to do it.  One phone call later, Vincent had a second willing witness to include in the ever-growing list of requirements; within the hour, the man arrived, filled out a form and handed over a copy of his photo ID.

Again, she reminded herself why she was doing this.  It granted her a path to citizenship.  It would be worth it.

* * *

Dossier complete, they walked out of city hall without incident and hours later, she found herself in Vincent’s penthouse, staring around at the large space.  He’d disappeared as soon as they arrived but told her to her make herself comfortable.

She half-expected a similar theme to his office but found most of the space was filled with modern furniture and clean lines.  Photographs scattered throughout the space between original paintings, a dark wooden staircase leading up to what she assumed was more living space; Vincent had taken them when they arrived.  Leather couches sat in a sunken sitting area with the far wall made of floor-to-ceiling windows.  A TV was placed facing the windows; any viewer would have a clear view of the entryway right above the level of the screen.

To the far right, an open dining area large enough to seat ten or so guests.  The kitchen was enclosed next to the foyer; its entryway faced the dining room and matched more of what she expected from him; cherry wood cabinets with more classical lines, stainless steel appliances, dark countertop.  High curved windows offered plenty of daylight.

A hallway off of the living area led to more of the space than she felt comfortable exploring.

She settled in at the dining table, her tablet and notebook and pens neatly stacked as she pulled out the small black box he’d given her that morning.

And so here she was.  Staring at a ring.

Sophia felt a pang in her chest at the realization that the shape and pattern were very…her.  She wasn’t going to hate wearing it.  She had to admit, despite his kitschy taste for art, he had an eye for matching jewelry to a person.

She should wear it, she knew.  Get used to it.  She just didn’t want to risk someone seeing it and then ruining whatever he was planning in his head as far as the press being told.

Vincent came back not long after she opened her tablet, his jacket, tie, and waistcoat forgotten, and she began to consider the sheer basics of what would be required.  He set down a laptop, charger, and planner at the seat across from her and was followed by a jingling sound, like a pet’s tag…

Sophia’s blue eyes fell on a pug, happy to see his owner again, tongue lolling out of his mouth a little.

“So, this is the canine soulmate,” she said, looking back at Vincent.  “Almost didn’t recognize him without the banana.”

“His favorite toy since he was a puppy,” Vincent replied, eyes on the laptop.  “Don’t be offended if it takes him time to adjust to you, he’s…selective about people.”

“My cat’s the same way.”

“Speaking of, does he get along with other animals?”

“He was a bit of a stray before he decided to make my apartment his home and he bears no marks from fights.”

He hummed softly in acknowledgement and sat down.  Esteban trotted off somewhere behind one of the couches and came back to sit at the side of Sophia’s chair, banana toy between his teeth and tail wagging.

Vincent’s brow furled as he noticed what his dog was doing.

“He’s never done that before with anyone else,” he murmured.  “Esteban?”

The dog whined at the sound of his name but stayed in place, large eyes staring at her.  Sophia smiled but she wasn’t versed in the body language of dogs.  Usually her cat brought her back things he hunted or found on the streets during his adventures.  Toys were usually played with when she wasn’t home, as she rarely saw the cat use them.

“He wants you to hold onto his toy.  It’s a sign of trust,” Vincent elaborated.

Sophia took the toy banana from him and put it in her lap and the pug walked away, tail wagging.

Between them, a ceramic piece on the table functioned as a spatial barrier, defining their own workspaces without entirely blocking eye contact.

Schedules were synced and ideal dates were chosen; they weren’t able to properly pick a date until the dossier was complete and the announcement posted at the city hall for ten days.

“Bureaucracy,” he spat, frowning slightly when she asked why everything seemed so difficult.

“Which is what started this whole problem,” she replied.

He would leave for a week for a business trip, which gave her time to sort out details on her end with dresses (one for each ceremony, as she’d figured) and her living arrangements.  They’d live together, get used to each other.  He hadn’t lived with anyone since college and she’d been roommate-less since Kat’s untimely death.

His guestlist was much longer than hers, to be culled closer to the date and by who was a necessity and who could he do without.

“Most of them will speak well of the event, but some are more loyal than others,” Vincent said.  “You truly don’t want anyone else?”

He sounded confused, as if he couldn’t understand why she kept her list so short.

“It’s an expensive trip for a lot of people,” Sophia shrugged.  “Some of my extended family might be able to make it, some college friends.  I don’t know if it’s even appropriate to invite Kat’s parents; they’re like a second family but how could they want to come to the city where their daughter died?”

She mentally cursed at the mention of her best friend.  It shouldn’t have been this complicated. Sophia couldn’t put all of her thoughts into words.  She didn’t need any of her friends to understand but she didn’t need the drama of them fighting with her about it either; the announcement at town hall was sure to do that for her.

Damn it, it wasn’t as though he was demanding she invite more people.  Vincent watched her for a moment, waiting, listening.

He wasn’t going to move on until he got an answer.  She knew that look in his eyes, seeking an explanation, a truthful one.

“I’m sure my friends will give me a hard time when the announcement goes up,” she began.  “They’ll make it about themselves and how I could have turned to them instead or how they were sorry that they couldn’t help me.”

Vincent tilted his head slightly, closing his eyes in understanding.  “Much like your investigation.”

“Yes.  And I don’t want any of this to be a disaster or have more drama than it already has.  I respect you, despite our history, and it would be a poor way to repay you. This isn’t just about me.  I understand the press and what angles they could take; you want a good show, and half of the people I know would stand up and slander you.”

“All of it would be true.”

A silence hung between them, only broken by the soft hum of the laptop fan.

 _Would it?_ She thought.   _Surely not all of it, and only then from one perspective.  Two sides to every story._

“Protests could help our cause; others would speak well for us,” Vincent mused aloud, and she could see the wheels turning in his head as he processed her points.  “But the level of scrutiny would be much higher.  One mistake and we would have to work twice as hard to be convincing.”

“Like I said, it’s a poor way to repay you,” she lowered her head and focused on her tablet for a moment before looking back up.  “This is difficult already, for both of us.”

More than she wanted to admit.  Her last attempt at wedding planning ended up with her packing her suitcases as she realized things weren’t going to work.  Raphael left the apartment and returned to her handwritten apology and the ring in its box on the kitchen counter.

Many things about that were a disaster but mostly because he would overrule her decisions.  Raphael wanted love but he didn’t want the communication that came with it.

Vincent returned to their next point on the list but shook his head, the barest hint of a smile crossing his lips.

“What?” Sophia asked, confusion crossing her features.

“You always consider others.  Even when you’re well within your rights to do as you please.”  He sounded amused at the observation before he moved onto the next point of business.  “Did you want a religious ceremony?”

Leave it to him to find what she’d been trying to hide.  It was genuine; she always cared about the needs of others, even if they contradicted with what she needed or wanted in that moment, but here…here, it was done because this was territory she never expected to be in again.

She must have looked confused or incredibly lost because Vincent put down his pen, placed his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers to rest his chin on them.

“I know this part is more for my benefit but I would like your input.  I value it.  And I value the thoughts of very few other people.”

Her eyes searched his face and she found little trace of Vincent Karm, arrogant and knowing; the man before her was searching for understanding, recognizing something wasn’t quite right.

She frowned as she remembered fighting over wedding details,  _everything_  nit-picked.  She recalled negative feedback, tangents about symbolism and the need for  _perfection_.  Raphael hadn’t let her pick anything for herself other than her dress.

Sophia couldn’t figure out if she didn’t care because this was the exact opposite of how she expected life to go or because she kept anticipating Vincent to choose for her in order to fit his vision for what the public would see.

Why the hell couldn’t she look at him?  Come up with some stupid smartass response?   _Where_ was her tongue, her head?

She was fine two minutes ago.

Vincent sighed softly and closed the laptop, rising from his chair.  She heard noise from the kitchen and he returned a few minutes later with a tray bearing two steaming mugs of what smelled like black tea, milk and sugar, and a small plate of madeleines.  He glared at the centerpiece on the table and moved it to the side, along with his computer.  He fixed her tea to the preference she specified and she found herself squirming every time he looked at her.

Without the laptop, without the centerpiece, they could face each other, and the reality in front of them.

“Time isn’t a luxury we have,” he started as he prepared his own tea with the barest hint of sugar.  “If it were anyone else, I’d either take on the whole thing or let someone else deal with it.  But as you said, it’s not just about either of us.  Do I want it to be press worthy? Yes.  Would it look better if it was obvious both of us had input?  Yes.”

He paused, frowning ever so slightly before he continued.  “But the last thing I want is for you to be miserable and unhappy.  Regardless of…whatever you decide in the future.  I’m not an easy person to deal with, Sophia, you of all people know that.  But as my wife, you will be equal in all things, and this is one of the easiest way to establish that between us.  I’ve never considered you anything less than an equal from the day we met.”

Vincent’s fingers found his mug and he took a sip before he finished his thought.  “This seems to bother you and for the life of me, I can’t imagine why.”

 _It’s not you, for once in your life._   Sophia thought bitterly, slightly annoyed he seemed to be making it about himself.  Or was he?  Or was he simply saying he couldn’t understand not wanting to be equals, that to him, that’s what marriage involved?  That even though he was in a position of power financially, and otherwise, he wasn’t holding it over her to overrule her choices?

She nodded, realizing perhaps it was best to simply…talk about it.  Communication was important,  _would_  be important in order for this to  _work_.

“I…planned a wedding before, Vincent.  And there was bickering over every detail.  I think I anticipate the same experience.  After all, you have often only thought about what others could offer you, not necessarily their opinions or thoughts.”

Green eyes widened over a white porcelain cup as he took a sip of his tea and recalled their parting two years prior.  “I knew about the engagement but I was under the impression things ended before… _merde_.”

An unspoken apology hung in the air.

She quirked her eyebrows and nursed the cup between her hands.  “I can handle a gun being pointed at me but wedding planning renders me mute, it seems.”  The tea held a smoky flavor, curbed by the sweetness of the sugar and the softness of the milk.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s more than understandable that would leave an imprint on you.  He’s the difficult one.  You…always keep me on toes.  Just when I think I figure you out, you do exactly what I thought you wouldn’t.  Raphael is too predictable, too tedious to manage.”

_Boring.  You want to say boring but can’t bring yourself to say it.  How unlike you._

She offered a faint smile.  It was still odd, Vincent Karm being genuinely  _nice_.  If he was.  Sometimes it was hard to tell.

“And on your point of only considering what people could offer me, I thought perhaps carrying you through the city proved otherwise.”

“You offered marriage as my way out because you want a better public image.  You openly admitted that the angle was perfect for what you wanted,” she countered, taking another sip of the tea and helping herself to a cookie.  “If you want to get technical, getting me home safe meant I was able to save Paris, which you wanted to begin with.”

“Touché, Sophia,” another smirk graced his lips before his tone became serious again.  “I meant what I said.  You’re my equal and you always have been.  This may not be ideal for either of us but I don’t intend to make you miserable.  And if you ever are, I have no doubt you would say as much.”

Oh, yes, she would.  That was something established between them by now.  Candidness.  Speaking frankly.  

“Remember when we first met, how you said patient people are the footnotes in history?”  She asked, finally looking at him.  “I work well under pressure and deadlines but I need a little patience sometimes.”

He nodded.  “I  _did_ say a willingness to learn.”

“Which goes both ways; we don’t know much about each other.  I just hadn’t expected this to be…difficult.”

They finished their tea and cookies, talking occasionally, tip-toeing around their pressing matter for a little while longer.  Eugene came in towards the end, when their mugs were empty and the plate was covered in crumbs, said hello, and then left with Esteban on his leash for his afternoon walk.  

She felt as if something in their relationship shifted again, as it had after their kiss.  He was more of an enigma now than he was two years ago.  Her own fiancé, a mystery onto himself.  Somehow, she expected him to be the same as he was when they first met, smoke and mirrors, metaphors and hidden meanings.  

But he sought knowledge as if it was water, wanted to understand every facet of something or someone he was going to involve himself with.  She was under little impression he wasn’t obsessive; the essence alone proved that he chased until he obtained what he wanted by whatever means necessary.

Much like she’d chased Kat’s killer, how she’d committed to saving Paris and finished what Kat started.

They  _were_ alike, at least in part.

The rest of their planning went smoother and by the time evening rolled around, most of the details were worked out.  When the official notice went up, they’d share the image on their social media and choose their date to send out invitations.

Sophia sat back in her seat as her stomach sank.  Vincent hadn’t mentioned any of his family but half of her guests were her relatives.

“My parents,” she realized.  “I can’t not explain this to them before...”

They’d understand, she knew, but she also knew there would be questions.  Awkward questions. Until they understood the context of the situation to know she was doing what she thought was best, what she needed to do.  They would want to at least meet Vincent, preferably over Facetime or Skype.

“It’s…what, barely noon on the east coast?”

“Just about.  Would you…call them with me?”  It hasn’t been this hard to ask Raphael to do it.  Was she concerned her parents would think this was another case of jumping the gun?  That behind smiles, they’d consider their daughter crazy?

“After dinner.  Eugene should be back with Esteban soon, perhaps the two of you can be acquainted, he’ll want his toy back.”

So, she stayed, set the table, tried to familiarize herself with the space she would eventually live in.

They couldn’t, after all, live apart and keep up with the charade.  If they ever needed space from one another, he said, Mesley-le-Vidames, where he had a country home, wasn’t terribly far.

In her exploration, she found guest bedrooms, an office, a small library, and a small sunroom, more private and warm than the open concept living space in the front of the penthouse.  Upstairs was, as she predicted, mostly living space, and although tempted, she refrained from opening the double doors that clearly led to the master bedroom.

She was an investigative journalist but she knew her boundaries.  So instead, she scooped up Esteban, who had followed her as soon as he arrived back, and returned downstairs to check on dinner.

Sophia watched Vincent from the threshold of the kitchen, Esteban nestled in her arms, which still seemed to surprise the entrepreneur, given his dog’s pickiness.  Perhaps this wouldn’t be as awful as she expected it to be.  Her cooking wasn’t up to par but she could learn, if it was expected of her to a degree.  He mentioned Eugene was the one who did the majority of the cooking when he didn’t eat out or have time to do it himself.

He was not as she imagined him to be.  At least behind the persona he so often put out to the world.  He was ruthless in his work, doing what he needed to in order to get what he wanted.  That had to be exhausting, constantly playing the part of cruel CEO and suave art collector.  He caught her watching and smirked, his eyes fixed on the cutting board in front of him.

“See something you like,  _ma cherie_?”

Their gaze met again before she broke it with an eye roll and walked away, shaking her head.   _There_  was the Vincent she remembered so well.  

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” she called back, not realizing what she had said before it was too late.

She heard a familiar laugh and shrugged it off.  They had flirted before, several times.  That was their thing, tense flirting and flattering.  

At least she would never be bored.

* * *

Dinner was quiet, which she took as a good sign; good food meant people focused on eating and not talking.  She offered to do dishes afterwards to give him time to himself. This was the longest time either had been in each other’s company and she knew he had things to catch up on, a corporation to run.

What the hell would she say to her parents?  They  _knew_ about Vincent, about her first time in Paris.  She could only hope they would understand her decision, even if they weren’t happy about it.  She didn’t need them happy.

He returned just as she was almost done washing and picked up a nearby towel, drying a few dishes and utensils that couldn’t be left to sit with water on them.

Sophia hesitated for a moment but the words were easier to speak than she expected.  “Thank you.  For not shutting me down earlier.  I have to get used to that.  You being nice.”

“I have no intentions of making this hellish for you.  If this is going to work, we have to try.”

_Goodness, the royal ‘we’.  A collective.  A team. That’s what we’ll be…five long years of that…_

“I think I’m still just…you have every opportunity to…”

“To hurt you?  To gloat? I think it’s fair to say I’ve done that enough.  That others have hurt you enough,” he turned over the bowl in his large hands with ease, focused on the task before speaking again.  “You taught me something that night Marion was caught.  I lost everything I ever gained through being cruel and threatening and evil.  I want  _happiness_  Sophia.  I don’t know if it’s with you or with anyone else, but I’m not going to get it by sticking to what I know.”

She had opened up to him and in return, he was doing the same.  She found another towel and began to help dry; it would at least make the task go quicker.

“I think you just liked being nice,” she said playfully, smirking slightly when he raised his eyebrows at her teasing.

“I did it because you asked me to.”

“And now?”

She hadn’t realized how close they were standing; how easy it would be to simply look up and close the distance between them.  Their arms brushed every now again and she could feel the warmth underneath his sleeve.  He smelled different than he usually did.  Or perhaps she had never been around him long enough to recognize his cologne.

Would it be wrong, to kiss him again?  Was it wrong that she yearned to?

If he had an answer, he didn’t give one.  It wasn’t as if he owed her one anyway, she figured.  After all, this was simply…a business arrangement.  At least they knew each other, at least he wasn’t a stranger, at least she would stay here, where her heart felt like she belonged.

And if she kept looking at it like that, maybe she’d make it through five years of this.

* * *

“They took that rather well,” she murmured.  “For such an unexpected event.”

“I anticipated more arguing, truthfully,” Vincent admitted, rising from the couch.  Esteban’s head perked up, wondering where his master was going, but relaxed when Vincent didn’t move.

“Maybe once it’s sunk in.  I’m not sure they’ll fight it, I want to stay here, they know that.”

“Your mother is very…”

He was referring to the sudden question about whether her daughter was pregnant and the quick wedding was a cover-up.  She’d promptly shut down the sentence before her mother could continue and moved on with explanations.

“Nosy.  You can say it,” Sophia shrugged, closing the tablet’s case and standing to walk over to her bag.  “I get that from her, to some extent.  Except I keep it professional.  Mostly.”

“Mostly,” Vincent agreed, casting her a knowing look and smirk.

She stifled a yawn as she collected her things, checking her phone a final time before tucking it into her pocket.  She  _should_ leave; they had work in the morning, he was probably a little sick of talking to her, and she wanted some time with her cat.

But leaving felt…odd.  Like throwing up a wall again when they’d begun to at least try to understand the other.  She fidgeted with her ring, which she’d put on before the call, in order to maintain appearances.  In her cloudy headspace, it gave her something to fixate on.

It was Vincent who spoke again, perhaps recognizing the exhaustion in her posture.  “Do you want Eugene to drive you home?”

She shook her head.  “I’m fine.  Eugene has his own stuff to take care of, I’m sure.  The Metro isn’t that far and the train is quick.”  Sophia offered what she hoped would be a comforting smile.  She was tired, yes, but otherwise quite fine.

If he offered something, he wanted the response to yes; he wouldn’t let up until it happened.  She expected him to push back on that.  Insist she let his valet take her home to make the ride quicker, or perhaps even that she stay.

But he didn’t.

“If you’re sure,” was all he said with a slight nod, following her to the door.

Sophia reached for the doorknob but paused in turning it.  Again, she was stuck with how to say goodbye.  Most people would have simply settled for the parting words and leave.  But they weren’t strangers.  Not really. Not for a long time.

Without thinking, she turned around and hugged him.  Vincent was slightly taken aback, hesitating on whether to return the gesture before she felt warm arounds around her.  He felt solid against her, her cheek resting against his chest, hearing his heart beating.  

“You should sleep,” he whispered, seeming to hesitate in pulling away from her.  “Unless you’d rather share my bed.”

She pulled away, her glare holding no strength behind it.  “Goodnight, Vincent.”

He chuckled, clearly amused at managing to get a rise out of her.  “Goodnight, Sophia.”

She heard the door click closed behind her softly.  As the elevator sped down towards the ground floor, she willed her heart-rate back to normal and tried not to think about how natural the diamond ring felt on her finger.


	3. Chapter 3

During his week-long absence, Sophia began the painful process of packing.  Most of her clothes fit into the three suitcases she had and she would have no need for the furniture in the apartment, most of which had been there from when Kat first moved in.  It would look odd for her to have a rental space full of stuff she’d never be able to use and odder still for her to keep renting the apartment after they were wed.  But she’d have to keep paying for it until Vincent added her name to the utilities and title; she speculated there would be an odd legal snafu otherwise and she’d be right back where she started.  
  
The ring felt natural on her finger now.  It garnered glances at the office, especially from the more seasoned writers and editors who knew about her history with Raphael, but no one dared ask.    
  
They wouldn’t really have to, once the _bans_ was posted after their application was approved.  If it was approved.  The whole point of the announcements at city hall were for people to come forward and contest the impending marriage; all of Paris would know soon enough.  
  
He returned on Saturday and they spent the weekend sorting her things.  Not that she had all that many other than her clothes.  A small box of paperback novels and cat toys, and a larger one of photographs and other things.    
And her dresses.  The one thing she’d managed to get done while he was away.  A more modern one for the civil ceremony and a proper wedding dress for the second, more exclusive, one.  
  
Her cat met Esteban, who seemed to take having to share his living space a little better than expected.  The animals were getting on well enough, even going so far as to play with one another.   
  
Vincent assumed she wanted her own bedroom but she pointed out the possibility of any guests questioning why her things would be in another bedroom if anyone ever stayed over.  The same scenario held for anyone else not Eugene; anyone interested in their arrangement would have a field day with that knowledge alone.   
  
“Yet you turned down my offer to share my bed,” he quipped, eyes falling on the playful pair of quadrupeds running around the penthouse.    
  
“Not the first time I’ve turned you down only to change my mind,” she replied.  
  
The double doors she saw the last time she was here led precisely where she’d expected them to.  Vincent’s bedroom was as reflective of him as his office was, with a few more personal touches.  A detailed wooden headboard was the focal point of the room, classical curves of the side tables and dresser once again contrasting to the sleek and modern feel of the rest of the penthouse.  It felt…lived in.  Home-y.  Warm.  
  
Words she never expected to associate with Vincent Karm.  
  
His closet almost rivaled the bedroom in size and the en-suite bathroom housed a bathtub she’d definitely have to try.  
  
She found him standing in the threshold of the bedroom, eyes roaming as if seeking where space could be made.  He looked so tired, now that she actually was able to get a good look at him.  She’d seen his itinerary before he left and winced at the busy schedule.  Back to back meetings and negotiations and dinners.  He’d flown in Saturday morning, which meant he had no choice but to push through his jetlag in order to reset his sleep schedule.    
  
Unpacking was slow and she realized he hadn’t expected her to ask to sleep beside him.  Or at least keep her things next to his.  Neither of them had long-term experience of sharing a bed with someone, at least, not someone they weren’t intimate with.  She hadn’t sleep beside anyone since Raphael. 

A creeping panic began in the pit of Sophia’ stomach.  She hadn’t thought this through.  Vincent hadn’t expected this, maybe he didn’t even _want_ her to share his space beyond living in his home.  She should have considered that.  He said it himself that he wasn’t expecting intimacy of any kind and sharing a bed, even in a general sense, was a level of intimacy reserved for those in close relationships.  

Maybe the separate bedroom thing was a better idea after all.

Hesitation would get her nowhere, though.  It _would_ earn her a quip that she knew she didn’t have a response to.  So she might as well get started.  
  
She hung her garment bags first, wanting to get them out of the way.  Perhaps out of sight as well, although she would be running to and from the closet for a while.  The second gown was lacy, mature, pretty, but not obnoxious.  A mermaid skirt with lace pooling in a small train.  Classically vintage with a modern neckline.  She’d picked it up from the tailor the day before he got back and shown Eugene, who gave her a nod and a promise of secrecy.  
  
Sophia began pulling out blouses from her suitcase, laying them on the bed to sort them by sleeve length, when her eyes fell onto Vincent.  His eyes, in turn, were looking at the garment bags, stark white compared to the black ones that held what were probably his tuxedos.   
  
“Do you like them?”  He asked, returning to rearranging his clothing in the dresser to make room for hers.  “Or rather, are they dresses you would have picked even in different circumstances?”  
  
Was he asking if she was being true to herself in her consideration?  If she had picked them for herself and not just for the image it would project?  
  
She’d wanted both to be something she’d like, especially her second gown.  That she got two was still bizarre to her but the second ceremony was private, exclusive, compared to the civil ceremony that was, by law, open to the public.  The second was for posterity and mattered far more when it came to putting on a convincing show.  
  
She might only get one chance at a wedding.  She might as well make it count.  
  
She smiled as she sorted more blouses and said she did like both.  Loved them, in fact.  Their eyes met for a moment and Vincent shared her smile briefly.

“Good,” he said, turning away again.

The rest of the day passed in a quiet hum of activity, punctuated by questions and ideas.  She put her small collection of paperback books and her laptop and work stuff in the small library downstairs, unsure of where she would work best.  

She returned back upstairs to shower and get ready for bed, passing Vincent’s study on her way.  The door was cracked open and as she passed, she saw Vincent stretched out on the large leather couch, asleep, Esteban curled up next to him.  She smiled faintly, surprised to find him so at peace, and it occurred to her that she’d never seen him at rest. 

She tiptoed into the room and her eyes fell on the blanket folded at the foot of the couch.  Sophia found herself wondering if he fell asleep here often, napping only long enough to recover so he could return to his work, rather than trek upstairs to bed.  Her fingers found the soft material and draped it over him and Esteban, careful not to wake the pair.

Neither stirred.

She smiled again and left the room as quietly as she came.

* * *

When she awoke the following morning, her eyes fell on a long box sitting on Vincent’s pillow.  She didn’t entirely expect to wake up next to him every morning and the only indication he’d slept beside her was his phone on the bedside table, the screen facing up.

Sophia sat up and picked up the box and small card.  The card only read, “This whole thing is far from traditional but some rituals are best not broken.”

Inside the box was a sapphire and diamond bracelet.  Something blue.  She hadn’t expected that.  She hadn’t expected her life unfolding this way, of course, but she hadn’t expected him to make gestures like this.  The ring was one thing-an unfortunate necessity, given his status, she would be asked why she didn’t have one when he could obviously afford one. That he was ensuring she had a little bit of normalcy to this whole endeavor was touching.

It was either a sign he was really trying or he just wanted to make sure everything would be perfect when the right people saw them.  She liked to think it was both, perhaps a little more of the former.

He must have bought it while he was away, then, she figured.  He had been home all day yesterday, as had Eugene.  That he thought of her at all during that entire trip shocked her; it was some important expansion meeting, about buying out a major Swiss marketing firm and acquainting himself with their most important clients.  He’d been incredibly busy, to say the least.

And yet he found time to…

Sophia hastily wiped away any stray tears.  She was _not_ going to start off her morning by crying.  

This whole thing had been stressful and dreadful.  She checked in with Hugo every day during her lunch break.  She avoided questions from her coworkers about where she had been for days, why she suddenly came back with a ring and who her fiance was.

Sophia shook her head and thoughts of the previous weeks left her mind, if only for a moment, leaving her sitting in a large bedroom holding a bracelet box.  She’d have to thank him later, when she saw him.  She got up and set the box next to a pair of earrings her mother had sent her that matched her dress perfectly, covering her old and borrowed tokens.  Her dress would be her new one.

She’d have to find a suitable gift for him in return.  

There were times when she felt lost in this endeavor, despite knowing this was hardly the ideal Vincent would have wanted for himself, either.  

And every time she did, she was reminded that she wasn’t, in fact, alone.

* * *

The _bans_ went up a few days later.  She saw it on her way into the office, took a picture, and sent it to Vincent.  And thus began the social media storm she didn’t want to deal with after she’d tweeted and shared it and tagged Vincent.

The comments.  The questions.  The likes and retweets.  A lot of people were surprisingly supportive and others, not so much.  Fellow journalists began their stories once they got their hands on the press release and the newspaper officially printed the names Vincent Karm and Sophia Cousland in the same small headline under ‘forthcoming marriages’.  

Thank goodness Raphael was still out of the country.  Her coworkers weren’t pushy but they were inquisitive enough for her shove earbuds in and slap a sign on her cubicle that simply said, “No” in large, bold letters.  She was surprised to not have been called into Human Resources and told to pack her stuff up and leave. 

By the end of the week, her co-workers still talked to her but it seemed like her new editor and second-in-command was less harsh on her.  Whether out of fear or sympathy, she wasn’t quite sure.

Sometimes she missed Louise.  Louise would crack a whip and make everyone forget about the stupid American who sold her soul.

Until Louise texted her and chewed her out for going along with a plan made by Vincent freaking Karm.  

Her social media was a mess from her friends abroad.  She spent days afterwards replying and saying nothing but positive things where it was required, asking friends to DM or call instead.  

One whole evening was dedicated to her trying to mitigate comments from those she knew in person and she swore she heard Vincent mutter something about throwing his own phone in the Seine.  A necessary evil of this campaign, especially because they both refused to let anyone else handle their social media. 

It died down by the following week or two.  By then they’d done wine tastings, finalized menu selections, sent out invitations.  They’d done the required press discussions and interviews; how odd to be on the other side of the conversation, she realized, in a context where she’d done nothing but get engaged.  

Everything that once felt so far away seemed to be right on top of them.  

She fell asleep in the open living room one weekend afternoon, her cat curled up at her feet, as she flipped through the draft of an article she was proofing.  She woke up a few hours later, the sky darkened and the smell of onions and meat wafting from the kitchen, with a really warm blanket over her…

Blanket.

She hadn’t been covered when she…

Sophia cast her eyes to the kitchen entrance, catching a glimpse of dark hair for a moment.  She felt her cheeks flush as she pulled the blanket around her and realized he’d probably covered her on his way to make dinner.

She watched him from her vantage point, from what she could see of the kitchen, and wondered when she’d ever get used to this part of him.  A voice in the back of her head whispered, _Never_.

* * *

Sophia sighed as she leaned on the kitchen island, elbows on the granite and phone in her hands, waiting for the kettle to boil.  It was an ungraceful position but she didn’t really care.

“You’ll hurt your back that way, you know.”

She glanced to her left, towards the doorway, to find Vincent in the threshold, an empty cup in one hand and his water bottle in the other.  His eyes met hers after a beat, waiting for a response.

“It hurts either way,” she muttered.  “We lost two more writers and someone thought it was a good idea to dump the work on me. My lumbar is killing me.”

_Was he staring at my…_ She thought, correcting her posture to stand straight again.

“They know you’re gone for a month, right?”  Vincent glanced at her as he filled the metal bottle from the tap on the fridge.

“HR does, but I think Raphael is attempting to reorganize our assignments and can’t give two seconds to anything other than that outside of...whatever it is he’s doing.”

She’d gotten an email.  Not a text.  Not a phone call.  An _email_.  To her personal address, thankfully.  Clearly well-thought out and eloquently phrased, written for posterity.  There was finger pointing, there were comments on Vincent, everything she expected of him.  It ended harshly with a comment about how she shouldn’t come to him if she was unhappy.

_I thought we were_ over _this, Raphael.  You didn’t exactly offer much help and said as such._

She’d refrained from responding.  Nothing more needed to be said to him, at least right now.  He was out of the country and she’d deal with whatever fallout came from him when he returned.

“Even abroad, he’s intolerable,” Vincent’s tone was lighter than she expected.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day you become far less frustrating than him.”

That earned her a small laugh.  

The kettle whistled and she turned to the stove, shutting off the burner.  Her eyes scanned the cabinets until she recalled which one held mugs.  Vincent lingered as she moved about the kitchen, sniffing tea and trying to decide what she wanted.

“Sophia?”

He rarely said her name alone. It was rarer still that he ever sounded so...careful.  Her heart pounded and it took all of her resolve not to let it jump into her mouth.

She paused what she was doing and looked at him and for the first time since their small reunion, he seemed to be hesitant, considering his words.  He tapped his fingers against the bottle and looked down before meeting her gaze again.

“The press is going to have to believe our kiss.  As rushed as it is, they’re still expecting…”

“It’s not like it would be the first time we’ve kissed, Vincent.”  She shrugged a little but tried to understand where he was coming from.  A lack of affection would show itself on that day if they weren’t comfortable.

If they weren’t comfortable, there would be speculation.  Speculation they’d have to work harder to cast doubt on.

He smirked, perhaps dare she think even smiled, at the mention of their only kiss.  “No, but grabbing my tie isn’t going to earn anyone any endearment.”

She turned back and plucked a tea bag from a box she had opened before replacing the top and turning back to him.  He shifted his weight for a moment and she realized getting the details right meant a lot to him.  If they kept avoiding a degree of gestures, their kiss would only be awkward and their presence throughout the night would be questionable.  “Why don’t we practice, then?”

Sophia meant it innocently, keeping almost all traces of flirtatiousness out of it.  This was something that bothered him, she didn’t want to belittle how he felt about it.  She took the cup back in her hands to turn back to the stove and pour the water while it was still hot, waiting for his reaction.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes ever so slightly wider when her words clicked in his head.  It was gone before she could truly wonder if it was there, his signature wicked smirk gracing his lips as he placed the bottle on the island counter.  He closed the distance between them and tilted her head towards him gently, his hand warm on her cheek.  He pressed his lips to hers and in the back of her head she _knew_ she should have seen that coming.  

But she hadn’t.  

He kissed her again, shorter than before and she fumbled with the mug as he pulled away.  

She caught the mug and narrowed her eyes as she tried to catch her breath, too.  His green eyes danced with amusement, his lips parted slightly but there was no mistaking the upturned corners of his mouth.  

She stepped towards him and placed the mug on the island behind him without breaking eye contact, challenging him as she knew he would want to be.  Sophia stood on her tiptoes as she grazed her lips against his before pressing a long but chaste kiss on his lips.  And another, and a third, letting some of the thrill of their first kiss come through, the tip of her tongue brushing his.

_This is...dangerous territory_. She thought, stepping back.   _It almost got you into bed with him the first time._

Just when both of them almost recovered, Vincent’s hand reached to cup her cheek, angling her head again as he kissed her sweetly at first.  His tongue ventured further than hers, wary but not hesitant in his motions.  She trembled for a moment, unable to think clearly and rested her palms on his chest.  He was without his jacket, waistcoat, and tie and he felt warm beneath her fingers, solid, real. 

This was real.  For the second time in her life, she was kissing the man who had threatened all of Paris.

Her fingers curled, gripping his shirt slightly and she gave a muffled cry when he deepened the kiss unexpectedly.  Not that she minded.  He shifted, one hand falling to her waist and pulling her a little closer before turning to press her against the island counter carefully.  

A few more kisses and she was atop the counter, her knees on either side of Vincent, pressing softly right above his hips.  His hands left her body, trailing up to tangle in her hair and she wasn’t sure where to put her hands first.  She settled for wrapping them around him under his shoulders, giving her leverage to keep him against her.  

Vincent pulled away for a moment to let them breathe, carefully pulling his fingers out of her hair and attempting to undo the mess he made of it.  

“Perhaps not entirely like that,” she whispered, gazing up at him through her lashes.

She wasn’t even sure her heart was working anymore. Vincent’s deep chuckle jolted it back for a moment.

They heard the penthouse door unlock and a glance at the stove clock reminded them on the time.

_Right...he has a meeting with Eugene_.  

They watched each other for a moment longer before Vincent pressed a kiss to her forehead; a second later, Eugene poked his head into the kitchen, waved at Sophia and dove right into whatever he and Vincent needed to talk about.

If he noticed either of their disheveled appearances, or that she was sitting on the counter, he gave no indication.  

Sophia waited until she heard the study door close and hopped down from the counter.  She poured the now lukewarm water into the mug and returned to her work, intent on pushing out all thoughts of where that would have gone had Eugene not walked in.


	4. Chapter 4

Her phone chimed as her stylist pinned another lock of hair.  She opted for a simple updo with her hair curled and pinned back, French braids at her temples as an accent.  She had bought pins with crystals in them to add afterwards, since she wasn’t wearing a veil.

But it was a pain sitting still.  

She glanced at the screen, Vincent’s name above the message.  

“Thank you for the tie and cuff links.  Apologies that my favorite color choice is so obvious.”

He grabbed her phone and replied, “Both are things that reminded me of you, I’m only sorry I didn’t know else to get you.”

Peridot cuff links that instantly made her think of this eyes.  A dark green tie with a paisley pattern; a break from his usual routine a little, while maintaining the color that fit him best, the pattern as subtle as his machinations.  

“They’re perfect.”  His reply was followed by a picture of Esteban, curled up on her side of the bed. “He’s grown attached to you, he hasn’t left that spot all morning, as if her expects you to be there.”

He was in the bedroom of the suite, away from the bustle of everything else for a little while longer.  He’d had emails to catch up on, or some other business, and he didn’t seem to much mind the noise.  She almost envied him.  Except that meant that she was confined to the dressing room and room coordination was very much required.  

Which, she supposed, lent to more excitement and hype, especially for her family and friends wanting nothing to be spoiled.  Something she also thought was a little silly. Considering they’d been legally married the day before at the civil ceremony.

Nothing seemed different.  Other than the signature she was practicing.  

She sent a heart and a dog emoji, unsure of what else to say.  Esteban meant a great deal to him, she knew, and that he warned her he might not warm to her immediately said something of the dog’s character and his master’s.

She was distracted as her mother came in and out, sometimes followed by Eugene.  Sophia could barely keep up with her.  She kept going on and on about details she’d finished weeks ago, and gushing about their trip to Tahiti.

A place that surprised her, since Vincent had chosen it.  Or had it on the list of places he suggested. They couldn’t not go away  _somewhere_ , mostly because his shareholders would expect him to.  Hiding out in the country estate wasn’t going to cover it.

She could live with Tahiti.  More than, but Vincent didn’t seem much like an ocean person.  Actually, him existing outside of Paris didn’t even seem possible, she’d said to him.

“No, but it’s halfway across the world and gives the idea we don’t want to be disturbed,” he’d explained, looking over her list.  It wasn’t long but she  _had_  considered saying in the country.  “If you like, we’ll spend a week or two seeing the rest of the country; there’s more to France than just Paris.”

So that was that. Two weeks abroad, two weeks in the countryside.  So she’d get to see the other house that he- _they_ , she corrected-owned as well.  She reasoned that she should see the country she’d wanted to be a part of so terribly.  

Sophia exchanged the lingerie her mother had pushed into her hands as soon as her back was turned.  She wasn’t going into this wearing lace that acted more like...well, not underwear. Being nude was preferable to the quip she’d get if he saw a glimpse of the lace she hastily shoved back in her suitcase.  

That was territory she didn’t need to think about.  Not now.

If she made it through this whole ordeal without crying first.  She felt her chest tighten and willed herself to  _breathe_.  She wasn’t dying.  This wasn’t Alia’s trial where there were throngs of reporters in her face.  She would smile, wave, and play her half of a couple very much in love despite their circumstances.  Because she owed him that much.  

That helped very little.

She leaned against a table in the corridor, hunched over slightly, still as a statue.  Her parents were distracted by something and she just needed two seconds to herself.  Eugene passed through, almost not seeing her; he did a double take and she looked up at him, unable to emote anything other than fear.

Eugene pointed to the set of double doors nearby to the other bedroom, not far from where they stood.

“He’s busy, Eugene. I’ll be fine.”

“You look as though you’re going to cave in on yourself,” he whispered.  “We both know once you leave this room, you won’t get a moment to yourself. Either of you. Practice is one thing, but I think both of you will be unhappy if you don’t tell him.  He’ll adjust accordingly when necessary but he can’t if he doesn’t know.”

She looked from the door to Eugene and gave a weak smile.  He  _was_  right, he usually was.  “Thank you, Eugene.”

“ _Madame_.” He mouthed, nodding and walking back into the sitting room with her family.  

_Ma’am.  Madam.  Fuck.  How could I forget? Madame Karm. Jeez.  Mrs. Karm still has a weird ring to it.  But that’s me now..._

She quietly stepped towards the door and pressed her back to one of them, knocking softly.  Sophia expected to hear him distantly through the door but not at her ear.

“Is everything okay?”  

There was an implicit question paired with that, one she knew dared to suggest she might be backing out of this.

“Schedule-wise, yes.”

“Emotionally…?”

“I’m terrified.  We both know I’m a terrible liar.”

She played with the sapphire bracelet around her wrist.  She didn’t feel like this yesterday. Yesterday was fine.  But then again, that was the moment that really mattered.  Today...today was a show.

He was quiet for a moment, thinking.

“Block out everyone else.  Pretend you’re trying to convince me.”

“The last time that happened, I straightened your tie and you smelled my hair.”

“And you still use the same shampoo.”  He almost sounded nostalgic for a moment.  “Ignore the room and focus on me through the vows.  And if you falter, I’ll pick up where you left off.  But I’m confident that once you get a feel for the atmosphere tonight, you’ll be fine.  You saved Paris twice, Sophia, quite brilliantly; if anyone can pull this off, it’s you.”

She felt his hand through the crack in the door, fingers finding hers.  

“If a greater purpose helps, think of the precedent we’ll be setting.”

“Leave it to you think of something grandiose.”

“That’s what I’m best at.  Right between writing operas and giving sarcastic remarks.”

“And innuendos and allegations.”

“Well, who would I be without those?”

“Not the Vincent Karm I married.”

“No, but I’ll keep the metaphors to a minimum after the ceremony.”

“Much appreciated.”

There was a moment of silence between them.  Eugene came back into view and tapped his wrist before gesturing for her to step away.  Had the morning gone that quickly?  

“You have to go down.  Eugene is giving me a look and telling me to go into the sitting room.”

He hummed, perhaps slightly annoyed at being interrupted.  “He has awful timing.”

“He’s  _your_  valet.”

“My point exactly.”  He paused and seemed to want to say something else but didn’t.

“Thanks, Vincent.”

Neither could bring themselves to untangle their fingers and Eugene had to pull her away into the other room.

* * *

The Rotunda at the Peninsula hotel was a small space, smaller than she thought he would want for a ceremony space but it suited the purpose perfectly.  They’d decided on a secular ceremony, as both had put aside their connections with religion at a young age and didn’t see the point.

He’d invited the same number of people she did, and he was surprised to find her side fuller than he expected it to be.  He saw the guest list but it was another story to actually see the seats filled.  Her parents, a few aunts and uncles and older cousins, a few college friends.

He had no family to speak of, at least, not close enough to warrant being invited.

Vincent made his rounds, first to her mother, who he had been able to get to know over the past few days; her father was with her to walk her down the aisle. He then moved onto a few of the key people on his side, the ones who needed no persuasion and would gladly, without asking, speak well of the event, of Vincent, and, he hoped, of Sophia as well.  Other introductions could be done at dinner.

He took his place once Eugene came in and spoke softly.  His heart skipped a beat and his stomach lurched as he saw her, dressed in white and lace and modern cuts.  He had always let himself admire her, a little; her looks helped with her job, certainly, disarmed people, but Vincent realized he’s never actually  _looked_  at her, as he did now.

His mouth went dry and he struggled through the whole ceremony to get his heart back into rhythm.

* * *

Sophia recognized only half of the faces in the room.  One side was entirely unknown to her. Her father's pace was steady, his hand over hers to hide her shaking.  She tried to keep her eyes from roaming the room too much and from looking straight ahead. Her stomach knotted itself over and over when she realized everyone, including Vincent, was looking at her.

She smiled when she saw the tie was, in fact, a good pick, the cuff links catching the light only when he shifted ever so slightly.  He got his signature colors without sacrificing much of a difference in style.  The black waistcoat threw her off but only because she kept expecting it to be green.

Her father had pulled her aside after her mother left the room and asked her once more if this was what she wanted.  If she would be okay, would be happy this way.  She wasn’t sure how convincing she was but he seemed to take it as her final answer.

When she reached the front of the room, she arranged her dress and they began.  She couldn’t look at Vincent too long, her skin crawling knowing  _how many people_ were watching her.  Vincent mouthed if she was okay and she gave an affirmative answer that she was.  He said something else she couldn’t quite catch and she mouthed for him to repeat it. Vincent did and she smiled once she translated it, her mind occupied on something else for a moment.

It was then she realized he was trying to distract her just enough to take the edge off of her nerves, to give the appearance of a genuine moment for anyone who saw through their act.  Disarming her to help her.

They kept their vows simple.  No speakers, no one to praise them;  Vincent felt it would cheapen the experience and neither of them knew anyone willing to go to such lengths.  He moved her engagement ring back to her left hand, over her band, but let go a moment longer than necessary.

Sophia felt the metal grow warm in her fingers as she said her lines, said her promises.  It slid over his knuckle easily and she did as he had, letting her fingers linger only a moment more than required.

They’d gone over the kiss again and again, the moment broken down so that all it could be was a gesture of posterity, of appearances.  The kitchen incident had been discussed, as she expected it to be, and they’d taken to attempting to be used to certain gestures. Kissing him would appear normal, natural.  Holding hands still felt weird (part of her wondered if there was ever blood on them, metaphorical or literal), but he never held her too tight, never made her feel like she couldn’t pull away.  

Something about how his role wasn’t to make her uncomfortable or unsafe.  That had been a glimpse of the other Vincent, the one who carried her home, risking his freedom to do so.  The one who stayed with her until she woke up.

If she didn’t know better, she’d almost assume he  _cared_  about her.

Maybe he did, on some level.  But it wasn’t her place to guess.

Vincent’s thumb traced a pattern over her knuckles, pulling her out of her thoughts to catch the last words from the speaker.  Right.  Final words and then…

She willed herself to breathe as their lips met, gently but not without apparent affection, like they practiced.  Sophia couldn’t tell when they were supposed to pull away. Each second felt like a thousand hours, stretched so thin they might snap.  This still felt...surreal. Kissing him felt so  _normal_ , nice even.  

How did someone who made his living off of being bad manage to be such a gentle kisser?  To someone like her, someone responsible for ruining everything he ever had?

He pulled away first, his breath still mingling with hers; Sophia pushed herself onto her toes just a little higher and kissed him again, playing the part expected of her.  She hoped it came off sweet, excited, even. She felt his lips curl into something between a smirk and a smile as he realized what she had done.  She pulled away, feeling her cheeks flush at the thought of her own actions.  

She’d  _wanted_  to kiss him again.

The next few hours were a blur, photos and congratulations from people she’d never met before.  The reception was just as busy, especially when it came to properly meeting people between courses. Eugene was right, they didn’t get a moment to themselves, not truly, either with each other or on their own.  

They danced together, her cheek resting on his shoulder on occasion, speaking softly.  She had opted out of a formal dance with her father out of respect for Vincent’s lack of family.  

She’d said something she couldn’t quite recall to him on their third (or had it been fourth?) dance and found a skeptical expression on his face, eyes narrowed like he couldn’t quite believe what she’d just said.  She couldn’t remember it.  Vincent had stuck out an foot in response, causing her lose her balance.  She  _expected_  to land flat on her back but felt strong arms holding her, Vincent looking down at her with an incredibly amused expression.  

She felt her breath leave her chest as the second stretched into eternity, her eyes wide in surprise before a knowing smile overtook her.  She acknowledged a few small flashes but couldn’t draw her eyes away from his. Just as quickly, he pulled her back up after spinning her once, right into him,  _against_ him.  She could have kissed him, maybe she should have, but instead she pressed her forehead to his, their height almost equal because of her heels.  

Another few flashes of light.

“Didn’t I tell you you’d be fine?” He whispered.  

“Only because you saw the opportunity.”

“And I took it. Like I always do,” she could hear the smirk in his voice.  “We’re a good team, you and I.”

He was right.  Not that she’d entirely give him the satisfaction of saying so.

He put a hand to the base of her skull and brought his lips to hers softly before drawing her head back to his shoulder.

They looked the part by now, of that much she was certain.

By the end, Sophia had ditched her heels, finding stocking-covered feet far more comfortable.  The cool marble was nice against the sore soles of her feet at they made their way out of the reception after everyone else left.  They leaned against the back of the elevator, arms touching, unconsciously supporting each other as they rode up to their floor.

“That went well,” Sophia said, breaking the silence.  

Neither of them drank much but her exhaustion had the same effect on her as a few strong cocktails and a few shots.  Especially now, when her body didn’t recover as quickly as it did when she was twenty two.  

Thus her current state left her with an inability to not state the obvious.  

It  _had_ gone well, overall.  Quiet, perhaps, but not without its excitement.  She’d posted a few times on her social media to keep busy, and much to her surprise, she was more excited than she expected to be.  Somewhere between indifferent and excited.  Something she could only describe as a generally positive “well, that wasn’t so bad”.

“Incredibly well,” Vincent agreed, reaching up to loosen his tie.  

It was still strange to her to see him anything other than composed and calculated.  She glanced at his reflection in the doors in front of them.  It was just...different to see him give in to the exhaustion.  She only ever saw him standing straight, never once giving the impression he was anything other than self-assured and would command the room.  Even his anger, what she’d seen on it, was easily smoothed once he figured out what to do about it.  

Every move he made was exact, was always as he intended it to be.  The same with his words.

It was late but their flight out of Paris wasn’t until tomorrow evening; enough time for them to recover, even though by her standards, the night was very young.  She had a feeling Vincent felt the same way.  She’d always had evening meetings with him, some of them on the cusp of dawn.  Yet she always felt the bed dip not long after she’d decided to turn in herself.  

A silent question lingered in the air, one neither of them seemed to have the will to answer.  The lack of sound was deafening and only seemed to draw her attention more to what they wouldn’t be doing.

They arrived back in the room and realized that even if they weren’t going for the traditional route of a wedding night (or nights, if she wanted to be technical), that didn’t mean their suite had to go underutilized.  The tub was gorgeous and they had a private rooftop terrace.  She hadn’t gotten to enjoy either properly when they arrived last night.  Some of their pictures were taken on the terrace but that was in the bustle of activities and she didn’t get to actually  _see_ the view.  

“I might take advantage of the tub for a bath,” she said suddenly, unsure of how to break the silence as she walked into the bedroom.  “I’m tired but I…”

She wasn’t quite ready to go to sleep.  They finally had time to themselves and there was no expectation for either of them to spend it with the other.  

“I understand.  A reprieve between two eventful days would be good, beneficial, even.”

A twenty-one hour flight was nothing to scoff at, after all.

She gathered her things from her suitcase but paused in the bathroom when she realized she wouldn’t be able to get undressed on her own.  She’d always had someone help her in and out of this dress and the one time she tried, it almost resulted in a shoulder dislocation.

She peered out of the bathroom, a few pieces of hair curled around her face after coming loose from her style.

She didn’t have a choice. Unless she wanted to  _sleep_  in this dress, she needed help.  And he was the only one in the suite.

“Vincent?” She called, suddenly feeling very sheepish.  

He looked up from his suitcase, one hand absentmindedly petting Esteban as he searched through neat piles of clothes.

“Could you undo me?” She asked.

Any other time, she’d have added a flirtatious tone, looked demure and turned away seductively.  But now? Now her heart was going mad at the mere thought of having to ask for his help, especially in undressing.  She felt embarrassed at having to ask even though most dresses required a second pair of hands.  

He peered down at for a moment, eyes narrowed and brow quirked, silently asking a question before he slowly stood and walked over to her.

“I  _can_ , after all, such a thing would be quite appropriate.”

_Oh.  Oh dear.  I…I hadn’t considered…_

She looked away for a moment as her cheeks grew hot, casting her eyes down to find he’d shed his jacket and waistcoat as she’d gone through her clothes.  He’d rolled up his sleeves too, something she noticed he only ever did when he was deep in focus or planning to do something.

“I meant the zipper. I can’t reach it,” Sophia clarified, turning around and standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

_Leave it to me to mess up my wording.  Idiot. How else was he supposed to take that?_

She felt warmth behind her as he stepped closer, his large hands finding the small zipper with ease.  His breath tickled her as he leaned down, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

“I know what you meant, Sophia.”  Amusement dripped from his words, and she felt his smirk against her skin as he pressed a single kiss to her neck.

He did that sometimes when they were in public, around other people.  She didn’t mind.  But here...in private...it felt like it took on a different meaning, one she wasn’t entirely sure of.  

It felt ambiguous and yet...not.  And he never crossed a line he wasn’t sure on.  He might not have expected a closeness but some of it was inevitable. They lived together, slept beside one another.  

She willed herself to remain still, to resist the shiver down her spine that came with hearing her name on his tongue.  

She swallowed silently and willed away whatever blush crept into her face.  His fingers hovered just over her skin where necessary and he stopped the zipper at the small of her back.  She wasn’t sure why but she would be able to do the rest herself and he could go back to whatever it was he was doing.  

The faster he left her alone, the better.  She wasn’t sure how long she could deal with feeling his lingering presence, the lightest touch.

“Have I rendered you speechless?” He teased as he stepped away.  

_I asked for you undo me.  That counts, I guess, in both senses of the phrase…_

“Not quite,” she quipped, and after a moment, she said, “Thank you.”

“I’ll likely be upstairs on the terrace, if you need anything,” he said, his breath tickling her neck again

She nodded and shut the door quietly behind her after he left.  She leaned against it, the dress slipping from her as she relaxed her shoulders.  She’d expected to feel a weird finality to this night, like it was the end of something, but it was the exact opposite.  It was the start of something.  She just couldn’t pinpoint  _what_.


	5. Chapter 5

Sophia stood at the glass doors leading to the courtyard that lead up to the terrace, a small tray in her hands.  Maybe she should leave him alone, they’d been glued to each other for weeks now, he deserved time to himself. So did she.

Yet...she found she didn’t mind his company.  He was overdramatic, definitely, especially where warranted, but on his own, when it was just them, he was a little more subdued.  A little more human.  

Humans didn’t like being alone.

Maybe it was  _she_ who didn’t want to be alone, not the other way around.

She sighed softly.  She’d made the tea, she’d gone through the trouble of asking Eugene to go pick up whatever cookies he kept at the penthouse (she’d lived there for weeks but never caught the brand and she kicked herself).  

She might as well  _try_.

Sophia took a deep breath and walked through the doors, the stone cold underneath her socks.  She’d thrown on sweatpants and a hoodie, the late spring evenings cool enough to warrant it. Not much point in choosing anything else.  She wanted comfort.

She knew nothing about Vincent, not really.  That bothered her, picked at her brain as she bathed.  She  _knew_  him but didn’t know who he was beyond their verbal sparring, beyond their sparse moments together.  What about his time in school, or when he was first starting his business?  His family?  His friends?

Did he even  _have_ friends?  Or just people scared into being nice to him?

Part of her wanted Kat.  Wished Kat could have been here.  Kat would know how to make her laugh, make her feel less...what  _was_  this feeling?  Homesickness?  She missed Kat, she missed familiar things, wanted desperately to...to cling to the life she knew.

The life that was over.

She stopped halfway up the stairs as if someone had punched her.  This was more than the ache of homesickness.  Of mourning a friend.

She was mourning a life she’d never have again.

Even if they went their separate ways, she’d be forever known as Vincent Karm’s ex-wife.

Sophia breathed again, her grip tightening on the tray.  Nothing had changed, not really. She lived in a different house, she had a different last name, wore a ring now, but she was still the same.  That wasn’t going to change.

She’d be okay.  

She just wished she would feel okay  _immediately._

She finished her climb, her damp hair catching the slight breeze.  She’d freed her hair of pins and washed the hairspray out, and she was glad to be rid of the slight tightness at her temples where her hair had been braided.  It was warmer than she expected it to be, actually, but maybe she was still warm from her bath, too.  

Vincent was sitting on one of the couches, glasses perched on his nose and Esteban’s head in his lap.  She knew he owned reading glasses but she’d rarely, if ever, saw him  _wear_  them.  And even then, usually only when it involved a screen.

She adjusted her hold on the tray, rattling the serviceware, and Esteban’s head perked up as she neared.

She’d bought a treat for him too, of course.  She couldn’t forget about him.  Her cat was at home, enjoying the solitude.  Eugene would bring the dog back with him after dropping them off at the airport.

Vincent’s eyes finished the line he was on before he looked up at her.

She could see the exhaustion under his eyes.  This was a bad idea; she should just leave the tea and go.  

“It’s too quiet downstairs,” she admitted.  “Can I join you?”

He blinked and for a moment, only looked at her with a subtly raised eyebrow and what she almost thought looked like concern.  

She was self-aware enough to know she wasn’t usually like this.  Careful.  Reserved.  When she was quiet, there was an ease to her silence.  She felt as if she carried an edge with this silence, this solitude.  She knew he’d pick up on it instantly and she wanted it to be left alone.

The stone beneath her feet felt like eggshells and she didn’t want to get this wrong.

This was a marriage of convenience but they didn’t exactly  _hate_  each other.  Not really.

The moment quickly passed as he closed the book and gestured to the space beside him.  Vincent picked Esteban up and placed him on his other side, the dog whining softly but knowing better than to clamor over his owner to greet Sophia.

The sound of traffic and distant music, of chattering on one of the other terraces, filled the space as she poured tea for both of them and fixed Vincent’s to how he liked it.  He sniffed it, not out of distaste, but curiosity.

“Don’t worry, there’s no Essence in it, I promise,” she quipped, and she felt the corners of her lips turn up when she caught sight of his small smile.  “Just vanilla and chamomile.”

Humor.  Humor was her go-to when she was uncomfortable.  She could live with that.

“I’d say that’s a shame but it’s probably best Marion was forced to get rid of it.  It wouldn’t have been hidden if it was ever meant to be found again.”

“Heloise wouldn’t have written her letter if she didn’t want it found.  Not necessarily used, but found nonetheless.”

They drank their tea in the relative quiet, Sophia occasionally stifling a laugh when she overheard something on one of the other terraces.  Discussion of old college roommates or flatmates or something, she couldn’t quite translate it quick enough but caught enough to find it humorous.

“And they were  _roommates_ ,” Vincent repeated under his breath, which only caused her to laugh again.

“Are you making fun of them or the Vine?” She asked softly.

“Using the Vine to make fun of them.”

“Vincent Karm knows about Vine.  The world truly  _will_ end.”

“Not as badly as that platform did,”  he took another sip of his tea, leaning back against the couch.

Sophia’s eyes went wide and she raised her eyebrows for a moment as she finished off her first cup.  How could she have thought he  _didn’t_ know about social media platforms?  Truly?  Television and advertising was his forte.  It only seemed to further solidify her thought that she knew nothing about him prior to…

She leaned forward for the French press she’d used to make the tea, having lacked a proper teapot, and she failed to notice Vincent doing so at the same time.  Sophia’s fingers reached the handle first but his fingers brushed hers unexpectedly just before she’d gotten a hold on it.  He’d pulled back as though she’d burned him and she felt her heart lurch at his touch again.  

She was immediately reminded of his fingers on her back earlier and did her best to not react, to accept his apology and pretend it didn’t happen.  She poured both of them more tea and then shifted on the couch, turning so her back was nestled against the arm and she was able to face Vincent, her feet on the cushion between them.

Esteban hopped down and walked around the coffee table to reclaim his spot on Vincent’s other side, resting by her feet.  Resting between the two people who took care of him.

She reached over and pet the pug, holding her cup carefully.  “Vincent?”

He hummed in response, glancing over at her and then down to Esteban, who was enjoying the attention.

“How did you...know?  About…?”

She wasn’t sure why this was the question that came to her mind first.  Maybe it was because she was missing Kat.  Maybe it was because he’d touched on it and never once brought it up again.

Both of them were alike in their identities.  Something they could establish more common ground on.

“What do you mean?” Vincent asked, a slight line between his brows until realization dawned on him.  “Ah. You mean how I figured out I’m attracted to multiple genders?”

Sophia nodded.  She told him how she’d never really doubted her attractions, but that she’d had the internet and been able to experiment and discuss things with her parents, with Kat.  She just...knew.  But that wasn’t always the case for everyone.  He listened and she saw that he finally understood what she was getting at.

Vincent was quiet for a moment, his lips pulled into a thin line as he considered her question. Had she crossed a line?

“I just...don’t know anything about you. And that’s something we have in common.”  She balled the extra bit of her one sleeve into her hand as Esteban settled back down and she gazed out across the rooftops.  “I know you said you didn’t expect closeness but…”

She sounded so...pathetic.  Almost as pathetic as she did the night she agreed to marry him, asking if they could be friends, at least.

And didn’t friends...talk to each other about the details of their lives?

She wanted to know him, understand the things that made him who he was.  She was living with him, sharing a life with him, contractual though it was.

“ _You_  want it.”  He finished, and she felt his eyes on her, piercing, as always, but she didn’t move except for a small nod.

It wasn’t accusatory; rather, it was an observation.  She knew she was easy to read, she preferred it that way.

“I  _do_  think it would help.  If anything, it would simply prevent contradictions when we’re apart.”

“I never said I was opposed to it, to knowing you,” he said after a moment.  “I just never wanted you to feel obligated beyond the public aspect.  I don’t want a power imbalance in a marriage, Sophia.  I know how I’m perceived.  Fifteen years of being the ruthless, ambitious CEO with an affinity for collecting rare and valuable things. Sometimes you start believing in your own self-fulfilling prophecy.  That you’re infallible, that you’re worth more than you are.  It’s tiring.”

She looked at him then, her eyes taking in features she knew so well to find what he said to be true.  He  _was_  tired.  And more than just from the long two days they’d been handling the spotlight.

He’d been trying, she knew, as had she.  In their moments of learning to be comfortable with one another, she knew some things didn’t come as second nature to him necessarily.  Being close to people without pulling their strings was such a prime example. He was always upfront and open about expectations and what he wanted, it was just wrapped up in a nice metaphorical bow.  

She’d overheard people tonight, and knew from her own research, many people found him to be difficult and vague; the reality was, he was an open book to those who looked hard enough.  To those like her.

“I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve been able to see through that from the beginning,” she replied without thought, and she watched a small smile form on his lips.

“In this scenario, it very much is.”

Silence grew again, and then she said, “I just don’t want it to seem like I’m really the only one who benefits.  Because when the cameras and the audiences are gone, it’s easy to just part ways and never deal with each other.  But you deserve more than that, because otherwise it means you’ve given away so much to someone you simply...tolerate.  I’m stubborn and I don’t rest until a story is a done, until I’ve exhausted every possible angle. I follow through on what I start. I didn’t start this to half-ass it, Vincent, because otherwise there would be no point to any of it.  I would like for everything between us to be...genuine.  Whatever it is, whatever it ends up being.  Because I don’t regret saying yes and five years is a long time to only  _tolerate_  someone.”

The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them.  The most concise version of everything she’d felt since she’d first signed her name weeks ago.  She didn’t want to look back on this, whatever happened, and feel tinges of regrets and what-ifs.  She had enough of those to last a lifetime just from the last months’ events.  From Kat.

Yet again, she found herself looking into piercing green eyes, but they’d lost their edge a little.  Or perhaps she was just used to it by now.  Sophia saw a darkness cross his face for the briefest moment, a look she knew well from those with pain and a story to tell, but it was gone before she knew it.

“There’s always been tension between us but our game stopped being a game long before we came to this point,” Vincent stopped only to take a sip of his tea and cast a glance at the pug, the dog’s eyes now slowly blinking closed.  Softly, he said, “I think it’s fair to say I did more than simply tolerate you since we first met, Sophia.”

 _It stopped being a same the night we discovered Heloise’s secret.  Although to me, it wasn’t much of a game to begin with._  She thought.

“Can I admit something?  It’s actually kind of ridiculous, given our situation.”

She was playing with the hem of the sleeve now, running her nail along the tiny  ridges of the elastic cuff, having freed the fabric from her fist.  Her tea was in her other hand, the bottom resting against her knee.  He said nothing but after a moment, he nodded.  

“When I first met you, I thought, ‘if he wasn’t so infuriatingly self aware of his intelligence and charisma, he’d be quite attractive.’”

“And I’m  _not_  otherwise?”

“Your self awareness is half of your charm,” Sophia quipped, shrugging a little.

“And what’s the other half?”

“I would say allegations and innuendos but...really, your candor and your drive.  And your willingness to put aside the past.”

Vincent watched her, a slightly raised eyebrow the only reaction she received.  What had he been expecting her to say?  Truly? That she hated him with every fiber of her being and that she hadn’t considered what life on his side would have been like?  That she regretted kissing him in the early hours of that chilly morning?  

Because none of those were true.  And she was awful at lying.

She broke the gaze and finished her tea, scratching Esteban softly, the pug snorting in response.  

“You’re wrong on the last part,” Vincent said, now focused on the phone in his hands.  He was typing something as he spoke, his eyes never leaving the screen.  His tone was final, and hard, ready to prove her wrong.  
  
He held it out to her a moment later, and she took it.  Staring back at her was a photo of three college-aged boys.  Vincent on the left, thin shoulders and wide smile, Raphael on the right, circular glasses and unstyled hair, and between them, a blonde with dark grey eyes that she imagined could stop someone in their tracks with a glare.  But here, they were warm, happy, perhaps even carefree.  
  
“But this is…” Sophia glanced from the phone cradled in her hands to Vincent and then back again.  “Raphael.  And you.  And…”  
  
“Paul.  I was the oldest of the three of us.  Imagine three boys, two of whom came from a fair bit of money and had no cares in the world, running around Paris and that was us.  Inseparable.  You can…” he gestured a swiping motion with his finger.  “It’s a private album kept on a cloud server.”

In other words, she would see nothing except what he wanted her to see.

She did and saw more pictures.  A camping trip, the quality grainy and the color faded at times.  These were film photos, scanned at one point.   Sophia watched years of Vincent’s life before her eyes, watched as Raphael learned to style his hair properly, as Vincent stopped wearing more casual clothes and began wearing ties and three piece suits, as photos of the three of them eventually became photos of two of them.    
  
Of Vincent and Paul.  
  
Paul looked happy.  Hell, Vincent looked happy.  
  
“Paul was how I knew.  He defined it for me, taught me to navigate a culture shunned for people being themselves.  He solidified everything I felt and gave it a name and made my attractions and my emotions valid.  He was the first man I was ever with, and we crossed that line knowing full well our friendship would never be the same.  But I...cared for him, a great deal.”  
  
She listened and turned away from the phone to look at Vincent, his eyes looking at something, or someone, in the distance.  His body was in the present but his mind...his mind was elsewhere. Watching scenes only he knew.  
  
“And I waited too long.  We confided in one another, about the people we had feelings for, but we never formally took our relationship beyond closed doors and areas of the city where no one would know us.  Laurent knew, but he didn’t say anything.  But the man Paul found himself drawn to was harmful, toxic. We’d gone to a party, and I spent more of the night trying to rationalize that I had no right to feel how I did.  I confronted him about it in the kitchen that night, only for us to argue.  Laurent gave us time to cool down and then decided it was best for us to go before someone got hurt.”  
  
His thumb ran up and down the handle of the cup, absently.    
  
“Laurent was driving.  He flipped at some point when he took a hard turn.  Rolled and hit a tree.  I was okay, a minor concussion, Laurent had a few cuts and maybe a cracked rib or two.  Paul...Paul wasn’t responsive.”  
  
Sophia’s hands trembled, the weight of the phone now feeling like several thousand pounds.  She opened her mouth but she didn’t even know what to say.  Should she ask him to stop?  That if he needed to, he could stop?  Did she apologize for his pain?  
  
“Vincent…”  
  
“I do let history get in the way, Sophia, when it’s warranted.  When it hurts.  I haven’t been on good terms with Raphael Laurent since.  I never got the chance to apologize, to tell Paul how I felt.  And I hate him for taking those chances away from me.  His class ring is all I have left of him.”  
  
She squirmed when he looked at her.  How had she not seen it before?  Behind the fire and the sharp daggers, there was pain.  A sorrow that only came from having lost something or someone so important that nothing would ever be the same.

The signet ring he wore didn’t fit him properly and now it made sense why he switched it around.  It wasn’t his, but Paul’s.  A companion to the locket she often wore, tucked close to her chest, a photo of Kat holding their long-haired feline that was always with her.  
  
“If he hadn’t died, we wouldn’t be sitting here.  And if you were ever curious about why I was so...eager to help you solve your murder, there it is.  I couldn’t stand the idea of another person becoming bitter and angry.  That would have been too easy for you and you always take the hardest route to get your answers.”    
  
Yes.  Yes, she did.  Sophia gave the phone back without looking at it, focused only on the man on the other side of the small sofa.  He took it, warm fingers brushing over hers, the touch lingering far more than it should have to simply take back a handheld device.  Vincent took it and looked at the screen once before closing the app and locking the phone.  

“If I may say one more thing?”  He asked.

Sophia nodded and placed her mug on the tray.  He was trusting her with knowledge that he rarely shared with anyone, it seemed.  None of this was ever in any of the research she came across when she’d first dug around to find information on the infamous Vincent Karm.  No rumors, no supposed history. Nothing.  

“If I was someone else, perhaps if I could ever hate you far more than I admire and respect you, I would blame you for destroying me.  But how could I hate the woman clever enough to break Heloise’s riddle? Loyal to her friends? You saw through me Sophia, and you weren’t afraid to face me.  And the night Kat was found, I realized whoever was powerful enough to hurt you that much was...a danger to everyone. Two years in a cell is a long time to  _think_.  You asked for patience, I ask for some in return.  I offered this arrangement not only for public image reasons but because I thought it would help me understand what it is that keeps drawing us together.”

Vincent placed his own cup and his book on the tray and rose a moment later, pushing his shoulders back to stretch.  He picked up the small tray quietly and Sophia scooped up the sleeping pug, dark eyes opening only to see who had picked him up before he returned to his slumber.  

They went back downstairs, the suite’s warmth a nice welcome from the cool air outside.  Sophia tucked Esteban into bed, knowing he was too tired to protest about sleeping near them.  She crawled into bed shortly after, her stomach in a knot and her mind a blur.  She hadn’t expected him to open up to her that much.  To tell her about a part of himself that he kept locked away from everyone except those he trusted the most.

Vincent wasn’t far behind, the bedroom plunged into darkness after he turned the bedside lamp off and took the other side of the bed.  Even with a fair bit of space between them, it was always so warm under the covers.  She’s forgotten what that was like, not having shared a bed in years.

Her mind nagged her, the haze circling back to one single thing.  His thought was unfinished.  She knew him well enough by now to know when his thoughts were incomplete, rather than when he was withholding information.

“Vincent?” She whispered.

“Yes?”

“Did you?  Ever understand?”

He didn’t answer immediately and a part of her wondered if he had simply fallen asleep.  Or was pretending to be asleep to avoid answering her.  Her eyes closed of their own accord but his voice brought her back to the cusp of consciousness, and she opened her eyes when he spoke again.

“I’m no closer than I was before that ring was on your finger.”

Sophia swallowed, her blue eyes searching the darkness as she took in those words.  So nothing really changed, then.  At least for him.

“I see,” the words felt light as air and she wasn’t sure if they’d left her tongue at all.

A hand found hers under the covers, fingers brushing hers in a gesture that she couldn’t figure out was meant to be reassuring or simply kind.  She interlaced his fingers with hers in a loose hold, one either of them could break if necessary, savoring the small touch.  Good-nights were whispered and somehow her name sounded so different on his tongue.

When she woke up, his fingers were still between hers.  As if that was where they belonged.  And she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains cursing as well as sensual and slightly sexually-charged content

The water was so...blue.  She desperately wished her mind hadn’t turned to the cliche.  The view was so beautiful that all she could do was stare and take it in.  Her nose was practically glued to the window for their entire descent; she’d traveled, but never to such a beautiful location.  She’d skipped out on the pretty places, especially when other locales held such promising stories.

The drive from the airport in Faa’a to the outskirts of the city wasn’t as tedious as she expected it to be.  She half-expected a driver, but instead the man who met them at the gate passed keys to Vincent and departed. The two of them had never actually been in a car alone together.  There was always Eugene, or someone else.

She could count on both hands the moments they’d spent together prior to their marriage.  Prior to their agreement. Being alone with him didn’t scare her. He never had.

Part of her was bothered by having to act the part of a newly-wed.  Accept the knowing smiles, the assumptions of how they’d be spending their time.  In truth, they would spend most of their days...well, _not_ doing that.  

Not that she would mind if…

 _Get your head out of that gutter_ .  Sophia thought, watching the greenery around them.   _At least until you’re on your own._

She hadn’t packed much, a single large suitcase with room to spare.  Vincent, on the other hand, had a laptop briefcase on his shoulder in addition to his suitcase.  

She’d left her laptop behind since she wasn’t expected to write during her time off.  She could access her email if it was dire and that was enough for her. Her husband (still such a weird word in her mind) ran an international company; he was more than expected to be available if a crisis happened.  He brought it out of habit more than anything.

The car wove through the lush landscape, climbing and climbing, until it reached a privacy gate at the top.  Vincent entered a numerical code before pressing his thumb to a scanner. The gate opened to reveal a winding, descending driveway, and what she could only assume was a rooftop patio, lush and verdant, with a few stone squares outlining the space, a pair of sliding glass doors the only means of accessing it.  

The _view_ was stunning.  From up here, she could see the coast, see the ocean.  Blue against green. She could see the city, too, and she briefly thought of how the night sky would glow with the lights from the skyscrapers.

She’d wondered how Tahiti of all places had come to his mind.  But now, seeing the landscape and vegetation around them, she understood.  She’d expected a beach, white sand between her toes and listening to the ocean as she drifted to sleep.  Not that she was a beach person but it was the first thing that came to mind when he’d suggested the island.

But this...this was better.  Privacy, the best of what the island had to offer without the congestion of other vacationers.  Peaceful. A vast contrast to the busy cosmopolitan streets both of them were so used to.

The beach wasn’t all that far, if she wanted to make the trip.  She was here, after all; she shouldn’t waste a chance to see everything she could.

“We can stay elsewhere, if you’d prefer, but I thought this would at least offer a little...respite,” Vincent said.  “I don’t do sand.”

“Here is...nice,” Sophia said.  “I could do with some quiet after that last flight.”

In total, it took them just over an entire day to get to the island.  Her body told her it was late but the sun was shining brightly above.

“I had no idea you had a house out here,” she admitted as they entered the garage on the second lower level of the house.  The sudden drop in temperature was a little shocking as she exited the car to help with the luggage.

“I’ve only been here a handful of times myself.  It was a more impulsive purchase; I’m a fan of the architect.”

His taste _was_ all over the place.  This house was incredibly modern, even by the standards of his penthouse.  It was incorporated into the hillside, and the palette was specifically chosen in order for the house to fit into the landscape, rather than stick out like a sore thumb.

The live-in housekeeper greeted them at the door as soon as they walked into the entrance hall to take care of the suitcases.  Sophia relinquished her things and fought back a yawn. It was just past six in the morning. She’d have to push through the rest of the day in order to get her sleep schedule back on track.

She wasn’t the only one; as far as she knew, Vincent had slept far less than she had during their flights.  He carried it better than she did, she was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. He, on the other hand, simply looked tired.  

“Above is the terrace; it actually leads to a pathway that wraps around the house.”  Vincent pointed to the areas on their current floor, which held the housekeeper’s room, the garage, and a nook with another desk.  

She followed him down the glazed stone and iron stairway to the third lower level.  They passed an office with an expansive view of the hillside and the ocean beyond it, and entered what she could only assume was the master bedroom.

“There’s three other bedrooms on this floor if you’d prefer another, this one just happens to have the best view.”

She couldn’t help but agree.  Unlike the sight from the top of the driveway, which gave almost a bird’s eye view, the one here was level with the surrounding terrain.  It was as if the house _was_ the forest.

“It’s perfect,” Sophia said, smiling softly, but lacking the energy to make it any wider.

She was exhausted, so tempted to simply flop face first into the mattress.  But she didn’t want to make the air between more awkward than it already felt.   _Why_ did she feel this way?

Was it being outside of Paris?  As though being outside of the city made it more real, more permanent?  There was a heaviness in her chest that she couldn’t place, one that hadn’t budged since their conversation after the ceremony.  She kept telling herself that nothing really changed. She still had all of the freedoms she had before.

Yet it felt as if people looked at her differently.  Saw a wife, not a woman, tethered to a powerful man as if she didn’t have a prominent career.  That she’d married him for money and for all the reasons people married a rich person other than for love.

That wasn’t true though and she didn’t care if anyone thought otherwise, really.  Because she would have to be an idiot to think she didn’t _care_ about him.  Even hatred was technically a form of caring.  

But she didn’t hate him.

No, she was very far from hating him, as her thoughts liked to remind her.  She wouldn’t have married him if she had.

So why did it feel as though there was a wall between them now?  Was she imagining it, had she put it there? Or did he feel it too?  Feel that now, without the pressure of planning and logistics, she could only focus on the responsibility to make this work?  Along with other things she couldn’t put a name to? Things that made no sense in the context of Vincent, of the man she once prevented from taking over Paris?

This was meant to be a time period for them to understand each other, learn about the other person.  So why did she feel like crying?

“I’m going to see about food and what needs to be purchased; I haven’t been here enough for the staff to know any preferences.  Is there anything you’d like?”

Several things came to mind and all of them were things very far away.  Her cat. That one really soft blanket she’d found tucked away in a closet that she began wrapping herself in when watching Netflix.  Coffee. Maybe iced coffee, it was certainly warm enough for it. Vincent laying next to her, rather than heading straight into what seemed like work mode.

This was meant to be relaxing for him too.

_Since when did I ever bother to consider…?_

She felt her face betray her at the thought.  She must have made a weird expression because she heard Vincent chuckle.

“I’ll ask again after you’ve gotten some sleep,” he said.  “I should know better than to ask questions when you’re this tired.”

Her eyebrows relaxed and she shook her head as she recalled the last time she was that tired around him.  Surely he felt that too, the tension between them, the thin line they walked?

“What about you?” She asked as she broke her gaze away from the window to look at him.  The words felt automatic, almost natural. He was just as jet lagged but seemed to be determined to push through it.

“Why, Sophia, I didn’t know you cared,” his sarcasm wasn’t as biting as she expected it to be; rather it was slightly playful as he stepped closer to her.  “I’ll be fine. Besides, I want to check on the state of things. Moving around helps me more than sleep does.”

That explained why he’d helped her unpack and settle when he’s returned from his previous trip abroad.  She could understand that; she did that herself with her work, after all.

Warm fingers found her own and she felt soft lips graze her skin.  Again, she caught a flicker of concern cross his face, and she wished she wasn’t so easy to read.  

“You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?” He asked.

She nodded.  “I’m just tired, I...I’m not used to traveling so much.”  
  
It was more than that and she knew he saw right through her.  But he wouldn’t press her to answer, not when he also knew she was clearly not able to give one until she figured it out for herself.

“I’ve never been able to hide anything from you, have I?”  She asked, an echo of their conversation a few days prior.

She always knew he could read her well but she always thought of it from the perspective of enemies, of trying to understand and predict an opponent's next moves.  

“Not really, no.  You’ve always been straightforward.  You wear your heart on your sleeve but only those who know to look for it actually see it.”

She had a reply on the tip of her tongue that she wasn’t able to get out.  It was heavier than she wanted it to be and kept her from opening her mouth again.

 _I’m glad you’re one of those people._  
  
He’d held onto her hand for an exchange that felt like an hour.  In truth, only a few heartbeats passed. Vincent said he would be downstairs if she needed anything and slowly let go of her hand.  He left and Sophia felt a sharp ache stabbing her in the chest again, one she willed away as she curled up and tried to get some sleep.

* * *

She awoke to the smell of coffee, freshly made, and so tempting.  Sophia glanced around the room to find a cup on the bedside table, still steaming, recently put there.  She took a tentative sip and found it to be exactly as she liked it, creamy with only a hint of sweetness and a tiny sprinkle of cinnamon.    
  
Kat started that tradition in college and she couldn’t bring herself to break it.  
  
The ache in her chest came back as she realized someone else had prepared this for her.  Vincent knew that tiny detail about her.

She took the mug and left the bedroom, feeling slightly sluggish but a little better than before.  Sophia took a peek at the other bedrooms, plain but not without decor; the master suite was neutral, while another room had a deep blue bedspread and similar colored art on the walls.  The other two smaller rooms continued a similar theme. The office space held Vincent’s laptop and in the corner she spotted a small dog bed. It had only been a day but she missed her cat and Esteban.  Missed the pitter patter of paws, the soft “thump” as her cat jumped from that spot on the arm of the couch to the floor when she served dinner.  
  
Sophia left out a soft sigh and went downstairs.  She found herself in an open living space, the kitchen to her left and the sitting room and den to her right.  Straight ahead was an expanse of glass doors, folded halfway open to let a cross breeze through to the enclosed terrace and garden on the other side, near the stairs.  From the bottom of the stairs, she could see Faa’a and the sea perfectly, even from the center of the space. Outside was another sitting area and the dinning area, a small but thick cluster of native plants between the two spaces.  Beyond it, she could make out a pool running the length of the house, narrow but beautiful.

This house felt so empty.  At least the penthouse was in the center of Paris and surrounded by so much that it was almost impossible to feel alone.  But here, with the city in the distance, with the ocean spreading for as far as she could see, it was easy to go from peaceful and alone to downright isolated.

She voiced as much to Vincent when he came down a few minutes later after he found her outside, dangling her legs into the narrow pool.  It was hotter than a few hours ago, the sun overhead and beating down on her. Another thing she wasn’t used to; Paris could be incredibly grey and rainy at times, and she’d gotten accustomed to the number of times it rained per month.

“It just...makes me miss familiar things.  I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve felt homesick.  I didn’t expect to feel like I have to adjust so much.”

He took a sip of his own coffee but otherwise said nothing.  But she knew that expression on his face; he was thinking, going three steps ahead in order to figure out the scenario he wanted best.  He held out a hand and helped her up.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask, Sophia,”  he murmured. “There really hasn’t been time to process, at least not without the noise of photographers and politics.  I’d be far more shocked if you didn’t need time.”

She nodded and followed him back inside, her bare feet leaving imprints on the deck.

* * *

Two weeks passed in a haze of heat, sun, and unexpected gestures.  The weather was something she adjusted to quickly, learning when to avoid being outside too long or when to apply more sunscreen, lest she burn.  It was never much of a problem at home but if she wanted to enjoy most of what was around her, she needed to remember how brutal the sun was.

Sophia received a FaceTime call from Eugene a few nights after they arrived.  She was reading in the sitting area outside, under the cover of the unique shape of the house, and was greeted by her cat pressing its nose to the camera.  Her feline had been managing to sneak out of the penthouse according to Eugene but he was always home by dinner time.

The same gesture was done by Esteban when she passed the phone to Vincent after she went upstairs.  His eyes were glued to his laptop for most of the evening. He’d been reading an email intensely and seeing the pug’s cheery face broke the tension resting between his brows.  

There were always fresh pastries for breakfast in a small bag on the counter, still warm by the time she came down for breakfast.  She noticed most of them were her favorites, the sweeter ones with chocolate or raisins, although a stray croissant would be found every few days.  Coffee was already made, the scent wafting through the entire fourth level. All that was missing was Eugene, she realized, and it would be more like home.

Home.

When had she been started thinking of Vincent’s penthouse as home?  Not just as her place of residence but where she felt most at ease?

They did go to the beach, or at least, Sophia did.  Vincent stayed far from the reaches of the sand. As she removed her sandals, she asked, “Why, because it’s coarse and rough and irritating and gets everywhere?”

“Mostly the latter.  I’ve just never been a fan of beaches.”

He entirely missed her reference to Star Wars.  Or if he got it, he didn’t acknowledge it.

She wanted to give a snarky reply about him owning a yacht and yet not being a beach person but it felt awkward in her mouth.  Her younger, pre-loss self would have said it without a care, especially to Vincent. But she couldn’t help but notice he seemed ill at ease, something he rarely was, and held back her remark.  There was such a fine line between the banter they often shared and a verbal jab that went too far.

She’d hurt him once by getting him arrested.  Although he didn’t blame her, she was sure the idea of being bested by an American journalist with little experience of French history and culture didn’t sit well with him.  No man of Vincent’s rank and stature enjoyed being knocked off his self-created pedestal.

He had been patient and understanding with her, the least she could do was give him the same courtesy.

Sophia let the water lap at her legs, her skirt gathered in her hand to keep it from getting soaked.  She only wanted to come down and say she’d seen been on a beach, to feel the water ebb and flow around her.  She wasn’t much for laying out on the sand but she could appreciate the natural power she was standing on the cusp of.  She could deal with the sand as a slight inconvenience.

Vincent showed her Fa’aa and Papeete, and although different in layout and structure, she was taken with the cities all the same.  The areas felt more familiar to her than she expected them to, almost as familiar as Vincent’s hand in hers.

On another late afternoon, she’d eyed many of the flowers they passed by, unfamiliar to her but just as pretty.  One had a more heady scent than the others although she couldn’t quite identify which. She’d said as much to Vincent in passing, more to simply make conversation.  A few minutes later she watched as he plucked a white flower, about three inches wide with a tiny yellow center, from a nearby plant, Vincent’s fingers twirling the tiny stem before he smelled it.

“This should be the one,” Vincent said, offering it to her.  “I believe it’s Gardenia Taitensis.”

Sophia took the flower, one of the smaller ones among other larger blossoms on the plant Vincent took it from, and raised it to her nose.  The scent was intoxicating so close up, potent, with a slightly earthy quality to it as well.

Of course he was able to find it with little issue.  She forgot how easily he identified her shampoo, and of course he’d probably been the one who created the scent of his perfume, one she’d never smelled.

She tucked it behind her left ear, as she’d seen a lot of women in the area wear flowers, and looked at Vincent, thanking him.  He straightened the flower so it sat better on her ear but she saw something gentle in his eyes for a moment, recognizing something she clearly didn’t.  His hand lingered but only a second longer than she expected it to, his fingers featherlight on her cheek.

He pulled away, a bit of disappointment worming its way into her chest at the loss of his touch.  

* * *

Sophia closed the book she was reading and placed it next to her on the pool deck with a decisive thump.  Her eyes kept wandering over the same paragraph again and again, her mind not finding the book interesting in any way.  At least not right now.

She’d looked up the meaning behind Polynesian women wearing flowers in their hair and was hung up on how easily she’d picked her left side.  The side that indicated marriage, engagement, or otherwise being taken. The right side meant the wearer was single. She’d chosen her left because that was what she saw more often, because it felt more comfortable for her to have it on that side.  It was an easy choice, almost a reflex, and yet it was technically the correct choice.

A choice she didn’t mind or try to hide.  Nor did she want to, even if she could.

That flower was currently resting on her bedside table.  She couldn’t bring herself to wear it again just yet.

The cool nights were her favorite here, she’d decided, along with the early mornings.  She could see the shift in the surrounding life of the island as the birds began singing, hear the distance sounds of people going to work or beginning their day.  These were her favorite parts of Paris, too, for mostly the same reasons. The cyclical change of everyday life.

Her feet were in the water, the filter humming softly.  She’d neglected to turn the pool lights on, the water appearing dark, reflecting the warm lighting from the terrace.  Most of the house was dark, save the light from the office window and a softer light from the bedroom where she must have left a lamp on.  

Vincent was mostly in his office for a few hours every evening; Paris was ahead by twelve hours, which meant he’d have to work at night if he needed to immediately discuss anything when his employees were awake.  It left her to her own devices for most of the evening but that was hardly different than their time in Paris; the only difference was, she wasn’t working, and thus couldn’t occupy herself in the same way.

She eased herself onto the edge of the pool further, feeling the cool water against her thighs.  She hadn’t made the most of actually being _in_ the pool, only dipping parts of herself into it.  Her bathing suit was in her suitcase and she didn’t feel like going all the way upstairs when she was alone anyway.

And they were leaving tomorrow.  She hadn’t really gotten to enjoy the pool much.

Who was going to see?  She had a towel next to her, as she always did, and Vincent was working.  The housekeeper was asleep; the bedroom light was off.

Sophia fingered the hem of her dress before pulling it over her head and laying it carefully next to the towel.  Her bra and panties went next, tucked underneath the garment to keep them from getting wet. Or from anyone possibly seeing them.

Not that _that_ mattered, really.  Vincent saw her half-dressed on occasion; they did, after all, share a bedroom and closet space.  It was inevitable that they would see each other in various states of undress.

Sophia pushed herself into the water, holding her breath as her head went under.  She rose to the surface almost instantly and wiped the water from her eyes and smoothed her long hair back.  The water was so gentle against her bare skin, cool and yet not off-putting. It seemed to envelope her and she felt lighter than she did without her bathing suit.  Nothing clung to her, held her back as she moved through the water.

She did a few laps, trying to keep her movements quiet.  She wanted to experience this and go shower and have this little secret to herself.  That she could let herself be exposed and vulnerable knowing Vincent was around but without him _here_.  That she had the freedoms she always enjoyed prior to her marriage.  

Eventually, she simply rested her forearms on the edge of the pool overlooking the hills, her breasts pressed against the smooth concrete.  The cities were so bright, and she could make out the lights from the airport, right on the water.

“So this is where you’re hiding.”

Sophia startled at the voice, losing her hold on the wall for a moment and dipping further into the water before she remembered to move her feet and tread.  She turned partially to see Vincent behind her on the other side of the pool with his hands in his pockets. She didn’t dare turn around further. She might have left the pool lights on but the terrace lighting was probably more than enough to give a vague impression of her body.

Not that it much mattered; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen a woman naked before.  And he’d already touched her, albeit that moment felt like an eternity ago. It wasn’t that big of a deal if he _did_ see her naked.  Would it even matter?

She didn’t answer him and turned back around, returning to her perch.  Sophia heard soft footsteps and glanced to her right to find Vincent standing at the edge of the pool, facing the same direction she was.  

Although he wasn’t wearing three piece suits, he’d spent most of their time wearing the very basics of his usual attire; a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black dress pants.  Hardly the best outfit in such heat but she realized Vincent wasn’t one for casual anything. He didn’t own jeans or shorts. It just wasn’t in his nature.

When he looked at her, his eyes never searched for anything other than her own, fixed on her face.  

“I thought you’d gone to bed,” he clarified.

Sophia shrugged awkwardly.  “I can sleep on the plane ride, I wanted to enjoy the pool for a little while.”

Vincent smiled softly and turned away to look back out over the vegetation.  The tight knot that formed in her stomach when she realized she was no longer alone unfurled itself; he wasn’t shocked to find her naked, nor did he openly seek to consume her body with his gaze alone.

She wasn’t sure if she could handle that intense gaze roaming her body, memorizing every detail.  Sophia felt her breath hitch at the thought and pushed it away into the recesses of her mind. Not _now_.  The last thing she needed was any sign of desire at the idea of being naked in front of him.  With him. Against him.

Fuck.  

She bit her cheek and pressed herself further to the concrete, willing away a sensation she hadn’t felt since the last time they kissed.  Her insides felt as if they wanted to invert themselves permanently.

“Thank you, Vincent,” she said instead, trying to shift her thoughts.  “I’ve enjoyed my time so far, this was...a nice break from, well, Europe in general.”

“I’m glad.”

Although his words were short, she knew he meant them.  She wasn’t ready to get out of the water just yet and pushed away from the wall, letting herself sink underneath the water again for a moment.

She came back up and found him sitting on the edge of the pool, rolling up his pant legs before sticking his feet in the water.  Sophia wiped the beads of water from her eyes and face before teasing, “You could join me, you know. Much more fun.”

Vincent chuckled and shook his head, although she couldn’t tell if he was declining her offer or because he found her words amusing.  His green eyes found hers and he simply said, “Perhaps another time, _ma cherie_.”

They stayed like that for a little while, how long Sophia couldn’t be sure, but long enough for her fingers to begin pruning slightly and decide that was enough.  Vincent rose first and grabbed her towel, unfolding it and holding it open for her. His head was turned to his left and he looked from the corner of his eye only once to check she was, indeed, getting out; he looked away just as she pushed herself up out of the water, before her breasts hit the evening air and her nipples peaked at the temperature change.

He wrapped her in the towel, only looking once he knew she was covered, and brushed his lips over her forehead.  Sophia looked up at him, slightly bemused.

They’d had moments but none of them were as strong as the one in the kitchen or perhaps even the wedding, the tension snapping for a moment to give way to a fire she longed to feel again.  She had been naked in front of him, _was_ naked in front of him, hidden only by a towel, and yet…

“Am I repulsive?” The words fell from her lips so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d said them.  But the look on Vincent’s face, eyes wide with disbelief, told her she very much had.

“The furthest from it,” he replied.

“Then why…?”

“You thought you were alone and I intruded on that moment.  You’re my wife but I’m not about to take advantage and make you feel as though I think your nudity entitles me to anything.”

He said it like it was the most simple thing in the world.  It was the same logic that kept him on her doorstep for hours while she was unconscious when he could have fished in her pockets for her keys and dumped her on the couch.  He was a man who took what he wanted, who enjoyed the thrill of the chase, yet knew his boundaries incredibly well, knew just where to step and what to say to make people do what he wanted.

She looked off to the side in thought, knowing she had to say something but she didn't know what.  She was the one who brought it up. Who wanted to discuss it. And somehow she was rendered mute.

“Is that what you think?” Vincent’s question brought her back to the present.  “That I find you off-putting?”

When had he gotten so close to her?  She could feel his heat radiating through the thick towel and if she focused, she could feel his heart beating as well.  Just as strong and quick as hers was, blood rushing through her ears when she realized there was almost nothing between them.

The wall she imagined when they first arrived was gone, smashed, although she didn’t quite know when.

She felt a finger curl under her chin and gently bring her head back to face him, his breath hot on her cheek.  His lips brushed her cheek and the corner of her mouth in an agonizing slowness she wasn’t aware existed. By the time he kissed her lips, she felt like an eternity passed.  It was cautious yet certain, although slightly stiff; the way they first kissed each other the other night, at the ceremony. She parted her lips slightly and his tongue brushed hers as he suddenly deepened the kiss, eliciting a muffled gasp.  She responded in kind, her hands letting go of the towel to rest against his chest. The hand Vincent had under her chin held her cheek for a moment before moving to the base of her skull while his other hand pressed her closer to him, keeping the towel from slipping entirely.  

Sophia felt a familiar fire searing through her body, pooling to create an ache she hadn’t felt in years.  There was no denying the reaction their fervent kisses had on him as well, his hardness pressing against her stomach.  She felt dizzy, unbalanced, with only Vincent as her anchor. Yet he was the one who kept her breathless. One of her hands went to the nape of his neck, interlacing her fingers in his hair.

He pulled away, both of them struggling to catch their breath.  

The two of them had kissed before, multiple times.  Mostly to simply get used to each other, so it would look natural for the wedding and any public outings.  But it wasn’t something they did for no reason, the way most couples did. She felt so lightheaded that she couldn’t think straight and was unable to fathom why he would kiss her at all.

“You and repulsive don’t belong in the same sentence, _ma cherie_ ,” he whispered.

“Vincent…”

The hand in her hair pulled away and returned to her jaw, his thumb finding her slightly swollen lips.  His gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips and she thought he was going to kiss her again, their noses brushing.

“We can continue this another time, Sophia.  If you’d want to, that is. Our flight is early, you should get ready for bed.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead again before he let go of her.  Hesitantly, Sophia stepped away and headed back inside, the stone stairs cold against her bare feet as she went upstairs.  She didn’t turn to see if he had followed her inside, afraid that if she did, neither of them would sleep that night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of previous Raphael x MC, drama ensues.

If she looked at him, she might burst into flames.  Twenty two hours had passed so far and she hadn’t, but it was still possible.  She was sure of it.

It was easier when they were on the plane.  Their seats were together but divided by a low wall, with a partition that could be raised.  They talked but she didn’t necessarily have to look at him to do so. Business class made her understand how people could actually enjoy flying.  

They ate separately rather than one of them taking the seat on the ottoman across from the actual airline seat; Vincent’s legs were a tad too long.  Sophia was thankful for the decision. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to stand that contact either, the mere brushing of legs by accident.

Last night replayed in her head.  It wasn’t supposed to go this way.  Amiable friends was what she’d been going for, not...not this.  This limbo. 

He was clearly more than okay with...the possibility.  She’d be a liar if she said she wasn’t. But did she really want that, to cross that bridge?  

When she said closeness, she didn’t necessarily mean sexual closeness.  She didn’t need that.

But there was always something there, wasn’t there? From the very start?  Some strange air between them, mutual respect and admiration, flirtation, willingly playing a dangerous game.  

Sophia thought herself in circles throughout the flight.  

And now, as they walked to the arrival gate to meet Eugene, she was pretty freaking dizzy from all of the thinking.

Her eye was beginning to twitch, to boot, probably from a lack of sleep.  She’d tried her best to sleep during the flight but even the plush cushioning, mattress pad, and pillow hadn’t eased her mind enough for sleep to stay with her.  She’d woken up and realized she missed actually being able to see him next to her and to fall asleep with his hand in hers.

Vincent’s phone chimed and she watched his lips tug down slightly at the text.

“What is it?” Sophia asked.

Rather than answer her, he showed her the message.  It was a picture from Eugene, discreetly taken, of a small gathering of photographers and other journalists for gossip magazines.  She recognized a few American logos on cameras and mic sets. Eugene’s text said, “I have extra security with me in case they’re here for you.  I believe I heard a comment about photos already published from the past few days, some American tabloid.”

“They can’t be here for us, right?” Sophia looked back at Vincent.  “No one knew when we were flying in.”

_ What pictures?  Maybe just wedding photos?  No, why would they meet us at the airport if that was the case?  Idiot. _

“You’d be amazed how quickly news travels if someone on our flight or on our way out spotted us or sent a photo to a tabloid.”

“I  _ am _ press, Vincent.”

“Yes, but even you have lines you won’t cross.  I’ve been called a vulture but paparazzi are the true scavengers.  They lie and violate privacy for the sake of a photo opportunity.”

Eugene was waiting with a cart, having already grabbed their luggage from the carousel, and was flanked by two plainclothes security officers.  

“Private cars on the tarmac prevented situations like this,” Vincent hissed darkly as he added his carry-on to the cart.  “But I kissed that goodbye to taste fresh air. Are there no other exits?”

“I’m afraid not,” one of the security officers said.  “You’re both on advisory lists of travel, and as such, you’re not allowed to go outside of authorized public areas.”

“What?” Sophia snapped.  “I’m on a list?”

“I’m not surprised.  You’re a journalist and you married a French citizen to escape being deported.  Said husband is a convicted criminal,” Vincent muttered.

The realization that their only way out of the airport was through a den of metaphorical lions only made her eye twitch more.  Sophia reached for her sunglasses hanging on the collar of her blouse and put them on, hoping to hide her stress a little while longer.  Vincent asked Eugene to take their bags to the car; it would be far easier to navigate the cluster of photographers without them.

“What are the chances that it’s just for a celebrity sighting?” Sophia asked, although she already knew the answer.  “Maybe Beyoncé is flying into Paris?”

“No, not if Eugene was specific about overhearing recent photos…” Vincent’s voice trailed off, realization creeping over his face as his jaw went a little slack and his eyes grew wide.  “Surely…”

He strode off in the direction of a duty-free shop as he looked something up on his phone, the two larger security officers trailing behind and clearly used to handling more independent charges.  Sophia followed, a frown tugging at her lips. Vincent plucked a few candy bars and a banana near the counter on his way to the large display of magazines, his eyes darting between his phone and the covers.  She realized he was looking for anything openly offering photos of the two of them and began hunting herself, scanning the rack. She found one and opened to the page mentioned, only to almost drop the glossy magazine in shock.

Pictures of them.  Their day at the beach, the day in the garden.  Someone had gotten a few good shots of him giving her the flower, her putting it in her hair, Sophia looking at him.  Someone had managed to get candid, almost intimate scenes of them. She felt dirty. Those were private, if chaste, moments, and someone had been sneaking around or submitted their own photos to the tabloid. 

Vincent raised an eyebrow and picked up another one, not bothering to open it, and paid for the purchases.  She had no idea why, of all the fruit choices, he bought a banana. Maybe as a treat for Esteban, who was already settled into the country home; her cat was very much an urban creature and she couldn’t help but briefly wonder how the fluffy animal would adapt.

They left the shop, Sophia tucking the magazines and chocolate into her tote bag without question.  She was about to do the same with the banana when Vincent mentioned potassium helps with muscle spasms.  She looked at him over the rim of her sunglasses for a moment before murmuring her thanks and unpeeling the fruit.   

He noticed.  They’d hardly said ten sentences to each other in the past day but he’d noticed something so tiny.

“About the other night…” Sophia began, examining the fruit as she chewed slowly.  It was best to just say it. She was never so hesitant with this stuff “I...I’m not opposed.  To…” she gestured with a finger to the space between them. “Whatever happens.”

Vincent cocked his head, his trademark smirk crossing his lips as his eyes roamed the corridor.  Their escorts were just out of earshot, hovering without being overbearing. “Usually I’m the vague and metaphorical one.”

“We’re in public, Vincent.  I just....wanted to clear the air, I know I wasn’t good company earlier,”  she took another bite of the banana and then swallowed.

“That bench outside your apartment was in public, too.”

She glared at him as she felt heat spread across her cheeks at the memory of sitting in his lap, pulling him to her, kissing him.  Not what she needed just now.

“It was three in the morning and deserted.  The last thing anyone needs to overhear is this conversation,” Sophia finished the banana and tossed the peel into a nearby trash can.  “Especially anyone who tips off the press.”

The very  _ last  _ thing they needed out there was the knowledge they hadn’t slept together when they were halfway through their honeymoon.   _ That  _ was private knowledge but knowledge that, if paired with anything else they weren’t careful about, would cast enough doubt for Vincent’s position to be questioned.  If anyone was archaic enough, it might even be grounds for their marriage to be annulled, her test date revoked, and for her to be tossed onto the next plane bound for the US.

It could happen.  Unlikely, but possible.  Especially if anyone wanted to make an example out of them.

“Sophia?”  That look of concern from weeks ago crossed Vincent’s face again.  “You’re pale.”

_ At least my eye twitching stopped though.  I’ll take pale over a muscle spasm _ .

She shook her head and said, “I’m getting ahead of myself, that’s all.  I’ll tell you later. But look,” she pointed to her eye and did her best to look cheery, “no more twitching.  I’ll have to remember that.”

Sophia knew Vincent didn’t believe her sub-par acting skills but he didn’t press her further.  He seemed satisfied at least knowing she was feeling a little better.

“Eugene is correct in his assumption, unfortunately; they’re likely here for us.  Apparently, my accommodations weren’t as private as I expected.”

Sophia’s hands trembled as she pulled her phone from her bag.  She’d turned it on but hadn’t checked it since before they left the island. The world felt unsteady.  No. There was no way…

Her stomach lurched at her Twitter notifications.  Her Facebook messages. She checked her name in a dozen different places.  Sure enough, a few tabloid magazines had published the photos; she recognized the website from the other magazine Vincent purchased.  Some shots were of her undressing or in the pool, others of her getting out of the pool. Moment by moment of Vincent wrapping her in the towel, kissing her, her walking away.

She could barely process that night as it was.  And now it was thrown in her face publicly. The photos were censored, thankfully.  She had a job to go to, she had  _ family _ who probably already saw these images.  No one needed to know what they did on a honeymoon; certain things were assumed and left alone.  This felt…so violating. She wanted to cry but that would only attract attention from anyone walking by.

_ I guess I don’t need to worry about anyone thinking we didn’t sleep together.  _ Sophia thought dryly.

“I reiterate my earlier point about private travel.  I didn’t want you going in without knowing what they’re hoping to get.”

That he would rather tell her himself and have her see firsthand rather than hear it from a random photographer was...odd, a mirror of the old Vincent she knew so well.  Years ago, he would want her to be shocked and thrown off balance, angry, make herself look like a fool. He wouldn’t have cared. She glanced up at him to find him watching her but clearly thinking, already planning ahead, and that thought dulled the edge of the tension and anxiety in her chest.

“The pictures would still exist, Vincent,” Sophia said grimly.

“It would buy us time for a proper statement rather than offering silence,” he countered.  “Most of the initial surprise has been taken from them, which offers an edge. They can’t hurt you with what you already know.”

To untrained ears, it sounded as though he was offering a platitude, but she knew better.  As selfish and sometimes cowardly as Vincent could be, she recognized the tone in his voice.  The same one from the night they got Marion, from the search around Alia’s apartment. He was putting someone other than himself first and Sophia wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that just yet.

_ It wasn’t even this bad when the engagement was announced.   _ Sophia thought.   _ My friends were the ones more upset... _

“Why is this happening  _ now _ ?” she asked.  “Most of the press kept a respectable distance and never…”

“I worked hard to keep the press...clean, to the best of my ability.”

“Meaning you paid them.”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“Someone must have paid them more.”  He frowned and straightened his tie. “I’ll make some calls when we arrive; for now, it’s probably best we get out of here.”

“Can’t agree more,” Sophia muttered, steeling herself for the bombardment of questions and comments.  Out of habit, she took his hand, secretly relishing in the familiarity of his fingers between hers.

It was a slightly larger gathering of photographers and journalists than she expected but it went quick enough.  The two security men cleared a narrow path for them and Sophia did her best to keep her face impassive and offer no bait.  Vincent’s hand left hers only for his arm to wrap around her waist, holding her to him after someone asked if she slept nude in addition to swimming nude.  She blocked out everything after that and it wasn’t until she slid into the car and shut the door that she released a breath.

“I think I’d take Alia’s trial again over that,” she said, resting her head back against the headrest and staring up through the sunroof.  “Every interrogation I went through was better than that.”

“It’s their job to get a reaction, but it gets easier.  You know what they want and you’re very good at not giving in.”

She gave a dry laugh, knowing he understood her willpower.  “Thank you. For telling me, that is.”

“Of course.”

They settled into an easy silence.  Sophia’s skin felt like it was on fire, echoes of his touch at her waist seared into her mind.

* * *

The city gave way to suburbs and then to sprawling flat land as far as she could see.  Eventually they reached a long drive, blocked by metal gate, through which she could see a large house from what she could only assume was the seventeenth of eighteenth century.  Small houses dotted the drive in similar style to the house; Sophia wondered if they belonged to the property. 

One wing of the house ran perpendicular to the main section, creating an L-shape that cradled the small garden and circular end of the driveway.  A clock sat among sculptures carved in relief in the pediment above the glass-encased entryway. 

She could spend the rest of the day exploring the house alone, never mind the rest of the property.

Vincent led her inside and left Eugene to handle their luggage again.  A tan blur dashed down the stairs and circled around their feet; Esteban was more than happy to have both of them back.  He picked up the pug, who snorted and nestled against his master’s shoulder, and gestured with one arm to the house as they walked in.

“It used to be the mayor’s home and was used as a school for a period of time,” Vincent said.  “Other than the mosaic crest in the foyer, everything was updated when I purchased the house.”

“I would have thought Versailles more your taste,” Sophia’s eyes ran over the space, all dark wood panels and Persian carpets and old paintings.  A large piano and a grandfather clock were near the imposing staircase that looked out over the main area. Right across from them, French doors lead out to the stone patio and the yard.  “It’s very...quaint, actually.”

“The price was good and I was able to make the changes I wanted without compromising on the legacy.”

He showed her the house, took her through the kitchen and accompanying breakfast space, the dining room and guest bedrooms.  He took her to the modest library, a tall space to accommodate the floor to ceiling shelves that also offered plenty of work space, if she so chose.  When they reached the den, a homey space with a large grey tufted sectional sofa and ottoman facing a television, Esteban wriggled out of Vincent’s arms and went straight for the corner of the couch.

A soft thump alerted her to her own cat’s presence.  The feline, Whiskey, wove itself between Sophia’s legs, his fluffy fur tickling her bare ankles as he mewed softly.  She scooped up the cat and was promptly given several nudges and head buntings in return. He fared better than he used to with longer spans of time alone but he’d never left the city before, never been able to not run around wherever he wanted.

She held the cat for the rest of the tour.

“There’s a winery down the road to the south and most of the food is locally sourced.  There’s more staff here, Eugene usually oversees everything when he’s here.”

There was a gardener, a cook, and a housekeeper, from what Sophia could tell.  A small staff but then again, it was usually just Vincent. 

Their last stop was the master bedroom, where Eugene had placed their suitcases on the bench at the foot of the bed.  She definitely needed to make sure she did laundry, she could count on one hand the number of things she had that were clean.  Maybe she could do that today...

“There’s no pool, unfortunately,” Vincent said, a mischievous glint in his eye.  It vanished as soon as she caught it, his face serious again. “Visitors usually wander nearby but security is tighter here, so it’s unlikely another incident like that would occur.”

Sophia nodded and then put Whiskey down, the cat purring softly before making his way to the door and slipping out of the room.  He never liked to rest for too long. She reached up and tied back her hair, not particularly caring if her hair was knotted or tangled.  She sighed softly, fighting the urge to do the digging herself.

“Do you have an idea of who…?”

“A few.  I have people looking into it,” he gave her a raised eyebrow and an appraising expression.  “Let them handle it.”

“I wasn’t considering otherwise.”

Sophia shrugged and opened her suitcase, looking for something to do.  This was what she wanted to avoid, being alone with him. He never made her tremble before and she never once had trouble meeting his gaze.  But now…now it felt as if he could read everything going through her head in an instant, which include a repeating loop of how good it felt to be pressed against him.  How much she wanted more.

“Yes, you were.”

Sophia offered a smirk of her own in return and looked up at him as she sorted her clothes.  “Fine, I was thinking about it.”

“You’ve quite a vindictive streak,”

“So do you,” she shot back.

He gave a slight tilt of his head and raised his eyebrows once, as if to silently acknowledge her point.

It wasn’t like him to easily pass off something so personal to anyone else.  She might have been the one naked but he was in those pictures too. He would be bothered by cameras just as much as she would until it died down.

Sophia continued emptying her suitcase, save for the delicates tucked into the top pocket, sorting items between colors, whites, and hand-wash only.  Vincent watched her for a moment longer before doing the same, although she knew much of his clothing went to dry cleaning and only when necessary. Most of his clothing was custom made and excessive dry cleaning was a sure way to wear out garments faster than normal.

He walked behind her to get to the closet, where she heard the soft clinks of wooden hangers as he hung up his clothes.  She knew he would sort them after hanging them, he was particular that way. Clean what he could himself and then place the dry-cleaning in one section of the closet for Eugene to take.  He passed her again but stopped when he was behind her. She felt his breath on her ear as his fingers fixed the necklace she wore; the clasp shifted to her collarbone at some point. Sophia turned her head ever so slightly, his lips brushing her cheek instead before he stepped back and picked up the rest of his clothes.  

She wanted his lips elsewhere.  She should have tilted her head, let him kiss below her ear, down her neck, let his fingers trace her back…

Sophia picked up a pile of clothes and headed back downstairs, where she’d seen a laundry room earlier.  The past few weeks alone had revealed the other sides of the man she first met at a midnight meeting who offered nothing but threats and innuendos.  She knew him, had grown to understand parts of him no one else saw, and he’d let her. That had been precisely what she feared she might never have and yet, here it was, staring her straight in the face.

Where it had been for a long time.  Perhaps even since that meeting so long ago.  She’d just been too caught up to see it.

* * *

All she wanted was a nice picnic, something simple.  Something quiet. Esteban was curled up on the blanket or chasing after his beloved ball and Whiskey was inside, preferring sunbathing in the library.  She and Vincent were underneath the shade of a tree, drinking wine as Vincent commented on what some of the passersby were really up to. He made a game of it sometimes, spinning stories about people based on nothing more than a few inferences.

The unfortunate part of taking the second half of their honeymoon in France meant Vincent was dealing with residual things from his office.  Not much, but enough that she would see annoyance cross his features before they left for the day. She hadn’t seen much outside of Paris and he was intent on showing her what he could in the two weeks they had.  A few days on the northern coast, near Saint Malo, a change from the scenery they’d returned from. Bordeaux was a long drive but one she’d wanted to make for a long time, one she’d postponed for far longer than she expected.  There was more to France than just Paris and if she had the time, she wanted to explore. Today, however, was a respite; she wanted to enjoy the area around the house as well.

It was peaceful and made part of her long for the time before life got busy, when days seemed to stretch on forever.  

She liked this part of him.  The man behind the cool, collected wit and sharp suits.  To be here at all felt as though he was bearing part of his soul to her and she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.  She wondered if she’d get the chance to do the same or if she already had. Perhaps if they ever went to America.

Sophia liked that idea.  A little more than she expected to.

Eventually the summer warmth gave way to an early evening chill as the sun began to set, grey clouds settling in to cover the bright oranges and pinks.  She was content to spend the entire night out here with the pug curled up at the other end of the blanket, their arms touching and fingers occasionally brushing.

And they probably would have if not for the sudden pitter patter of rain from dark grey clouds, signaling a summer storm.  

She hated thunderstorms.  They were always so loud, so jarring.  Being in the city helped down out most of the rumbling and shaking but out here, there was nothing to buffer the sounds or vibrations.

They hastily packed up and began the journey back, hoping to beat most of the downpour.  When they were halfway to the house, the rain came down hard and sudden, drenching both of them. Vincent held the blanket over their heads, Esteban tight in Sophia’s arms, but it did little when they were already soaked.  

In the heavy sheets of rain, she could make out a car in the driveway, lights on and engine idling.  It hadn’t been there earlier. She thought she had seen it somewhere before but the rain made it difficult to see much of anything beyond basic shapes.

They made it to the foyer just as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled again.  Sophia winced, Esteban letting out a soft whine. 

“Me too, Esteban,” she whispered, trying to soothe both the dog and herself.  “I hate them too.”

She tried to take slow, even breaths.  They were inside. Nothing was going to happen.  It was just rain and a little electricity. It was a natural occurrence.  It was  _ fine _ .

“Sir, there’s a man here, he insisted on waiting for you but I’m not sure to what end,” Eugene murmured, offering fresh towels to both of them and taking Esteban from her to dry the shivering dog.  He eyed the soaking wet blanket on the floor but focused on the pug as he continued. “He said he wouldn’t leave until he spoke with you.”

Sophia squeezed the water out of her dark hair and wondered just who would be so insistent to see him, especially to make the trip outside of the city.  Better yet, who really knew they were here? Vincent had only told his colleagues he was in the country, not  _ where _ , and she knew he’d emphasized on only being available for a few hours each morning.  

“Can it wait until I’m in dry clothes?” Vincent replied, any traces of the man she’d spent her day with gone from his countenance.  

“I’m afraid I couldn’t get him into a sitting room, he’s in the main hall.”  

Which meant both of them had to walk past this stranger to get upstairs.  She couldn’t even use a servant’s passage to circumvent the room; the closest one was near the stairs.

Sophia exchanged a look with Vincent, who was incredibly displeased at the turn of events.  He curled a finger under her chin to angle her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Should I wait here or…?” She asked.

“Nonsense, this shouldn’t take long.  Go change and get warm, I’ll be along shortly.”

She hesitated but gave him a quick kiss before following him into the next room.  Rather than stop to glance at the visitor, she passed Vincent and continued on towards the large staircase, the towel draped around her shoulders. She was intent on leaving the room as swiftly as she could, ignoring the figure near the grandfather clock.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Vincent growled, recognizing the individual.

“So it’s true.”

She turned, startled by the voice.  Raphael stood near the other side of the room, near the piano and the large windows, rain pelting the glass as it came down even harder.  Anger didn’t even cover the expression on his face. His ears were red, jaw set, body tense from head to toe. Why was he even here? He was supposed to be abroad for another few weeks.

Her stomach knotted at the knowledge he probably saw the pictures from the previous week.  She’d forgotten, for the most part, that he would. It didn’t really matter; it was only a few days ago that the tabloids retracted and offered an apology for publishing such private moments.  The photographer would be reprimanded according to company policy. Whether Vincent believed that was another story.

Sophia shoved those thoughts aside as she felt fury grip her and replace her fear and anxiety.  How dare he. How dare he, the jealous and possessive fiancé who portrayed himself so innocent, show up here?  He had no right to be here. She was very clear two years prior with where she stood on dealing with him outside of a professional context.

“ _ What _ is true?” She snapped, the chill once clinging to her skin disappearing as anger swallowed her whole.

“This. You and...this monster,” Raphael gestured to Vincent, who, to his credit, was more collected than she expected him to be.

“Careful, remember whose house you’re in,” she retorted.

“He can speak for himself, although I know he’s always ducked behind someone at the first sign of trouble.  I thought the rumors about marriage were garbage but it seems they’re true.” 

He gestured to her hand and she covered her left one with her right, suddenly protective of the diamond.  And of the man who gave it to her.

“Why does it matter?” She snapped.

“Because he’s a despicable man who is incapable of caring about anyone other than himself.  Who owns people under the pretense of wanting what’s best for them.”

The glare was pointed at Vincent, alluding to an events she could only guess at.  Other than being industry rivals, she could only recall what Vincent told her about Paul.

“Don’t do this, Laurent,” Vincent said, his tone final.  He wouldn’t warn him again.

She felt her nostril twitch as she remembered Raphael was never one to be openly confrontational without nudging or liquid courage.  He had said a lot of things about Vincent in their time together. Right now, Raphael’s words held more tension than usual and lacked the slight eye-roll worthy charm of two people who played off of their mutual dislike for the other.  She got the distinct feeling he drank more wine than he should have; she’d seen this one before, the night before they broke off their engagement. He would say what he felt he needed to say because he was incapable of it without someone badgering him.  

That was a pet peeve of hers.  She enjoyed investigating but when it came to relationships, she hated having to do it to the people she cared about.

“Do what? Barge into your home and demand why my ex-fiancé of all people is married to the man who wanted to destroy Paris?  Who manipulates and lies and pulls strings to get what he wants?”

“And like you’re such a saint?” She spat, stepping closer to Raphael.  “You want to talk about manipulation, about being despicable?”

Words came to her mind, words she’d kept to herself for over two years, never getting the proper chance to say them.  Most of their arguments were over not wanting to change, whether that was a lack of open communication, or trying to keep the relationship at a constant peak of excitement and happiness, never letting things fall into a constant.  Never letting anything get dull. If things got dull, feelings would fade, and he was so afraid of that. But he’d driven her away all the same. Raphael’s ring had felt too heavy on her finger and one day, she’d written him a letter and left the ring in the kitchen.

She’d visited Vincent hours later and then caught her flight home.

This was a wound she didn’t want opened again.  A reminder of all the times she’d tried and failed to keep someone happy, of how she’d let herself be criticized and overruled in the name of love and happiness.  Because sometimes it was easier to do that than constantly fight back.

No one was easy to love; humans were complicated, after all.  But he hadn’t made it easy and in the end, it just wasn’t worth fighting for.

“Who brought me to Paris under false pretense?”  Sophia began. “Who led me to believe you were kind and sweet and endearing when in reality, you’re constantly just pushing your own ideal on people, expecting people to  _ read your mind and know _ what you want?  Who never once asked what _ I  _ wanted out of life?”

He had, once.  He’d never asked again.  Never tried to work as a team with her to achieve those goals when she’d bent over backwards to help him.

She was so close to him that, in another life, she would be able to kiss him.

“You have  _ no _ right to be here,” she whispered.

“Is this an American thing?  Marrying people older than you for your own gain?  Whoever can put the largest diamond on your finger?”

A sharp sound echoed through the large room.  She’d done it without thinking, without considering.  Her hand stung probably as much as Raphael’s cheek did, a red mark already apparent on his skin.  He looked aghast, as if he never expected her to be able to do such a thing. As if no one had ever done that to him.

Just as sudden as it came, the fire inside her died and she was left with a hollow ache in her chest.  She shouldn’t have hit him. She should have just walked away. Shame filled her gut. She wasn’t a violent person.  How could she have…?

She took advantage of Raphael’s shock and stepped back, her features twisted in disgust.  Words were on the tip of her tongue but she held them back, knowing they would only make him more combative.  

Vincent reached out for her as she passed but his hand didn’t linger, holding her forearm only long enough to let him make brief eye contact.  He let go of her as she moved towards the hallway, fingers trailing her skin, catching her hand and silently asking her to stay. To endure.

She cast a final look over her shoulder and shook her head before she opened the door to the servants staircase and left, hoping she’d hidden the tears prickling her eyes.

* * *

Vincent turned his attention back to Raphael after the door shut silently behind Sophia.  He couldn’t tell if she was upset over her actions or Raphael’s words. He liked to think their relationship was, at this point, more than a simple arrangement for mutual benefit.

Friends, perhaps, with a longing for more.  For the first time, he wanted to be close to someone.  It had been easier than he thought to oblige her request for closeness, to let her see who he was when he wasn’t trying to control and manipulate outcomes.  He enjoyed sharing with someone, a feeling that surprised him immensely, and having someone who could understand his thoughts and ideas. He knew, in the back of his head, she might never love him, nor he her.  Knew she might never ask for more than chaste affection or ultimately seek out someone else for her desires. But to have a partnership, a relationship where he could rely on someone,  _ trust  _ someone...that would be enough.

Something inside of him twisted at the thought of Sophia’s expression when she left, pain written across her face as clear as day to him.

“She’s never going to change her mind, you know,” Vincent said, green eyes narrowing on the other man.

She’d already been hurt once, violated by someone who thought only about quick money instead of ethics.  Not that he was someone to lecture on ethics. Vincent had personally handled the call to the photographer and laid out terms no one could argue with.  If he wanted a career at all, he would never expose anyone in such fashion ever again. The younger man only said he had a tip from a source and that he would be paid substantially for catching the American in a compromising position.  The source never got a name.

And now she’d been hurt again in a little over a week.  She could handle the press, as she had before. But she hadn’t signed up for  _ this _ , to be personally attacked by someone she once cared deeply for.

Raphael rolled his eyes in response.  “You’re a vulture. Picking up scraps people leave behind. Things no one wants.”

Vincent clenched his jaw, knowing the reference wasn’t just to the woman who fled the room on the verge of tears, but to their deceased friend.  He had been friends with Raphael long enough to know when the other man drank too much, when his jealousy went unchecked and he made worse-than-usual rash decisions.  This was one of them and he had to tread carefully.

“At least I know what  _ I  _ want, Laurent. I was never one to be indecisive.”

Vincent slowly made his way about the room, looking at the pictures on the wall, at the tiny trinkets. Remnants of his parents.  Of Paul. A smile never to be seen again.

“No. You always get what you want, don’t you, Vincent?”

Raphael’s venom made him smirk.  In any other situation, those words would be painfully accurate.

“If I always get what I want, then he would still be alive.” Vincent drawled.  “But not even my power extends that far. Didn’t you stop driving after that?” 

He recalled the car in his driveway, being pounded by the heavy rain.  A nice model, modest but not without a little flair.

“You’re not the only one who can afford a chauffeur, Karm.”  Raphael spat back. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“No, you came here to see if your own scraps would still be edible and appealing to you after being picked at by Paris’ vulture,” Vincent replied, sarcasm thick on his tongue.  

He turned away from the pictures and walked over to Raphael, swiftly grabbing the man’s red hair to angle his head so his lips were close to his ear.  They were the same height, always had been, despite their age difference.

“She isn’t a carcass, she isn’t a dead thing to be picked at, played with, tossed around,” Vincent whispered. “She’s a woman in a lot of pain, pain no one else wanted to help her with.  Pain only you and I are even aware exists. But never once did you attempt to listen to her when you were with her, did you? Sit at her side and watch as agony took grip in her heart? Watched her face fall when she realized her own best friend was killed for something larger than herself?”

The glare he got in return was worth every metaphorical knife he drove into the other man’s gut.

“It wouldn’t kill you to be more empathetic to your lovers, Laurent.  To think of someone other than yourself.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Vincent smiled viciously, as though he were a cat with a canary between its teeth.  

“What do you know of her goals, then? Her ambitions? The things that make her tick? How she takes her coffee? Her work habits?”

Raphael’s lips remained closed, either unable to find the answer or refusing to respond.  How frustrating. Vincent pulled the other man’s hair tighter, forcing him to listen as he dropped his voice further.

“She wants to make a name for herself, tell her story, become a credible source of information for the truth.  She has a weakness for good wine. Give her a philosophical issue and she’ll find every possible angle to look at it. She’s sometimes too headstrong in her planning to see the larger picture or possible scenarios without suggestion.  She works herself until she’s exhausted, until her fingers and her head ache and throb and she spends two days recovering.”

Vincent heard a mumbled reply and pulled away just enough to look Raphael in the eyes, give him just enough space to speak.

“Cream. She takes her coffee with cream.”  Raphael hissed.

Vincent scoffed and shook his head as he ran his tongue along his teeth.  Even that he had wrong. No wonder his engagements never worked out. He lied to Sarah about how he started his empire and he never really bothered to understand the person he felt anything akin to attraction for.  Raphael always preferred the idea of a person rather than how they actually were, Vincent recalled. He and Paul spent many hours convincing him out of his reveries but to no avail; Sarah at least had been strong-willed enough to correct him and teach him herself.

He understood why that meant so much to Sophia, to understand and be understood.  She’d never had it before and it was part of the reason she never went through with her previous engagement.

“Three sugars, cream, and a dash of cinnamon.” Vincent replied, pushing Raphael away from him harshly.  “Like I said. You know nothing. You barely scratched the surface when that ring was on her finger. You don’t get to come into my home as though she owes you anything.   _ She _ left  _ you _ .  She made her choice long ago.”

Vincent glared at Raphael hard.  “Get out. Or I’ll show you out myself.  It’s been a long time since my hounds had anything to chase.”

Raphael opened his mouth, as if to respond, but thought better of it.  He glared icy daggers at Vincent before fixing his glasses and stalking out, slamming the large front door behind him.

Vincent let out a breath through his nose before taking the staircase Sophia had moments prior.  

He cared.  Maybe too much.  When the hell had he memorized all of those tiny little things about her?  Her smile, her laugh (and the difference between when she found something genuinely amusing and when she was being polite, an incredibly subtle change), the things she wanted most out of life.  And how hard she would work to get it.

He hadn’t felt this way in a long time and in truth he’d never expected to again.

Damn it all. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains strong sexual content throughout, you've been warned. Enjoy!

Part of her wanted to stay in the stairwell and wait for him but the rest of her couldn’t stand to hear Raphael speak anymore.  And she wanted out of these wet clothes. She was shivering underneath the towel, the warmth from her anger gone. Sophia wiped her eyes with the edge of the towel, thankful she’d decided to forego make-up.  At least she didn’t have to worry about smeared mascara, she’d had too much of that in her life lately.

The downpour turned to a thunderstorm as she walked the hall.  The floor beneath her quaked as the storm continued, giving no indication it would let up soon.  Sophia winced and raised her arms, covering her head with the towel until the thunder eased. She pressed herself against the bedroom door as she closed it, hating how tight her chest felt.

_ We should have stayed in Tahiti _ , Sophia thought, drawing the curtains closed after she turned on the lights, leaving only a sliver.  It was often dark enough outside that they were never needed but they would block out most of the lightning.

Esteban was tucked into his bed, shivering from the storm.  His brown eyes darted to her and he gave a soft whine. Sophia scooped him up and soothed him as best she could, at least until he was comfortable and he gave in to his own exhaustion.  He’d spent the better part of his day running around and enjoying the weather. The pug deserved all of the rest he wanted.

She peeled off her wet clothes, tossing them into the hamper.  Sophia grabbed a pair of pajama pants and a tank top, preferring comfort to matching clothes.  Any other time, she might choose a bath, do anything to forget about the thunder, but sleep was heavy behind her eyes.  Whatever energy she had from her moment of fury was gone, expended in all but a few seconds. It wasn’t like her to hurt anyone, even when she was drunk, but she couldn’t stand his accusatory tone.  They had history, the three of them, and she understood that.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t  _ know  _ about the engagement and the marriage.  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t turned to him for help.  He’d chosen not to. And she’d made her own choice.

It hurt.  The insinuation that she didn’t know her own mind, and dare she even think, her own heart.  That there was anything wrong with however she lived her life. Raphael Laurent was not the person to judge her for her decisions.  No one was. Except herself.

Her mind wandered as she brushed her teeth in an attempt to ignore the claps of thunder outside.  She understood Vincent’s point about imbalance, especially because of how they met, and not wanting to go into this assuming or even expecting anything beyond what they agreed upon.  But neither of them was ignorant of the fact that there was something between them, either, a spark that started the moment she stepped into his office. 

She wanted to explore what had already been set in motion.  And she knew he did, too.

Sophia dabbed her face with a cold washcloth, willing away the red blotches on her cheeks and the puffiness around her eyes.  Her dark hair and her pale skin made the redness stand out all the more; she had gotten some color in Tahiti, but not much. Between the storm and Raphael, today was a day that needed to end, one she could forget about by sleeping it away.

The lamp next to her bed was the only source of light other than the occasional flash, casting a warm glow around the space.  There was a coziness here that didn’t exist at the penthouse and she had to admit, it was nice being outside of Paris. 

Sophia curled up under the duvet and wrapped herself in the thick blanket, leaving some slack in case Vincent came in while she was sound asleep.  She hogged the blanket when she had the bed to herself, a habit she’d been slowly breaking as she learned how to re-share sleeping space. She fixed her pillow and settled in, sleep coming easier than she expected it to. 

She just started to drift off to sleep when she felt the bed dip slowly and she heard the rustle of the blanket and sheets.  She’d fallen asleep on her side, facing his side of the bed, not really caring if she woke up when or if he joined her. She looked at him through half-opened eyes, bringing the blanket further up and tucking it under her chin as the rain pelted the windows.

“Is he gone?” She asked softly.

“Yes.”

“I’m-”

“Don’t apologize for his transgressions.  Ever. He needs to learn to make peace with other facets of his life.”  He sighed softly. “How are you feeling?”

She shifted and brushed her foot against his clothed leg and he recoiled.  “Cold. I don’t like storms. Almost as much as I don’t like our visitor.”

She sucked in a breath as thunder rumbled and she willed herself to just close her eyes again and try to go back to sleep.  She hated that she hated storms, so many people enjoyed them and she could see the appeal of such devastating natural beauty, she just wished she was capable of enjoying it.  Sophia expected him to simply leave it at that and for him to turn away from her. She was surprised when he reached up to put an arm around her and draw her closer. He gently pressed her head against his shoulder.

As if on cue, a slow roll of thunder cracked after a flash of lightning seeped through the tiny split in the curtains.  

Sophia squeezed her eyes shut as another rumble passed, louder than before, and she pressed herself harder against him inadvertently.  Her hand clutched his shirt and she barely registered that it was incredibly soft.

She didn’t hear her name, her own breathing and heartbeat loud in her ears.  Warm hands found her arms and pulled her close. He intertwined their legs, their chests touching and their faces millimeters apart.  Fingers stroked her hair, and she could smell him, the last of his cologne mingling with a scent uniquely him.

She’d seen his face a thousand times, kissed him, and yet they’d never been this close before.  Their breaths mingled and she realized how temptingly close his lips were to hers. She couldn’t tell if her heart was beating faster from the storm or from how enticing Vincent’s lips looked as she opened her eyes and gazed at him.  If she focused enough, she could feel the memory of what it was like to first kiss him, shock giving way to heat.

She flicked her blue eyes up from his lips to find him watching her and all she could do was will herself to slow her breathing.  She was safe here. The storm was outside.

So why did it feel as if it was swirling around inside her chest, in her head?  Like her heartbeat was a crack of thunder every time it pounded in her chest? And why did that storm clear only when she looked at him, touched him?

“You don’t have to-“ she whispered, her breath hitching.

He shushed her softly, carding his fingers through her damp hair.  He held her and said nothing else, gave no explanation for why he was comforting her.  Very unlike him, not to provide clarification, to hear the sound of his own voice.

Sophia brushed her nose against his before she tentatively pressed her lips on his lightly.  He didn’t pull away, didn’t ask for more than she was ready to give. She kissed him again, fuller, funneling everything she couldn’t find the words for into the gesture.  It felt  _ right _ to be here, next to him,  _ against _ him.  Surely, he could feel that too?  The way they fit into one another? 

“I’m tired of overthinking this,” she whispered.  

She pressed herself closer to him, closing what little space remained between them.  He gave no further explanation, resting a hand at the curve of her hip and the other snaking under her neck to weave his fingers through her hair.  His thumb teased just underneath the hem of her shirt as he shortened the kiss, soft staccatos against her lips.

He tucked a leg around her knee and shifted suddenly, turning both of them over with her on top, pressed against him.  She was stunned long enough for him to sit up so she was in his lap and kiss her again, fully. One of his hands traced her exposed collar bone.  He hummed in approval when she shivered at his touch.

There was no hiding their desire in this position, she realized, his hardness pressed against her core, even between layers of clothes.  The mere thought seemed to make her ache more but she willed herself to go slow, not to be too eager. It had been a while but this was still...new to them.  It would be a point of no return. Their relationship changed by the mere fact that they gave in to what each of them craved with the other.

She wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him again, fingers curling into his hair as they had so long ago when they crossed the first line.  Their first kiss was an echo, nothing in comparison to the intoxicating touches that made her head spin. Sophia tightened her grip when he broke away to kiss her pulse point and the column of her neck.  She gasped when his tongue teased the curve of her neck and arched slightly.

Her skin broke off in goosebumps as his fingers grazed her arms before tracing a line down her side.  She jolted when he reached the curve of her waist, a weak spot she knew he would remember for later. Her hips bucked slightly with the movement and she heard a hiss escape his lips at the friction.  Sophia felt him smirk against her skin as he pressed more kisses to her neck. He was clearly enjoying what he was capable of doing with just a single hand.

Vincent sat back, and she pulled away ever so slightly as both of them tried to catch their breath.  His hands found her hips as his thumbs traced the hemline of her thin shirt, her nipples hard and obvious through the garment.  Her shirt was the first thing to go, flung to a far corner of the room, forgotten in the darkness. She could just make out him gazing at her in the faint light, the way an artist would look at his works, marveling her.  His hands roamed, as if memorizing her, teasing the weak spot at her waist again. Her hands pushed his shirt up and he obliged and the garment met the same fate as hers, cast to the floor. She kissed him again, her tongue mingling with his.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had done this.  Certainly...not since her first engagement, there hadn’t been time, especially when she returned to Paris.  Vincent took advantage of her wandering mind and the next thing she knew, she was on her back, staring up at him before their lips met again.  His fingers brushed the waist of her bottoms, never delving lower than he could reach, and she nodded. The fabric was slid down her legs and she kicked off the pants, leaving them somewhere under the sheets.

Sophia lost coherent thought as his thumb brushed against her nipple, breaking away to kiss her neck again, grazing his teeth along the sensitive skin, occasionally biting.  He followed the path of her collarbone as he took her breast in his hand, kneading softly until his lips found her other peak, and his tongue flicked across her nipple.

She gave a stifled moan at the sensation.  She knew she wanted this, wanted some kind of other way to understand what it was she felt for him, felt between them.  But the fire pooling in her, running through her veins...she hadn’t anticipated how  _ good _ it would feel, just to have him touching her this way. 

Everywhere his fingers touched became another spot engulfed by an overwhelming feeling she had never experienced before with another partner.

His lips kissed the curve of her breast and trailed further south. Vincent smirked against her when she squirmed at a particular spot and he breathed again, eliciting the same response.  

For a moment, she thought he would wretch the panties from her hips, leave her bare. But his lips skimmed the hem of the fabric to move to the inside of her thigh.  She ached in a way she had never known, in a way only her heart once had when she left that prison cell and boarded her flight.

Could he feel that, feel how she pulsated in want, in need?  

He made his way back up, one hand holding delving beneath the thin material and grazing her, his digit seemingly cold against her own heat.  She was eager, perhaps too eager, but it had been a while. It was to be expected.

Vincent said nothing, only pressed his thumb to her clit and rubbed a gentle circle as his lips found hers again, his chest against hers.  She found herself bucking her hips against his hand but he stilled her, and she endured waves of fire until the fabric was pulled from her hips, leaving her bare beneath him.

Her fingers delved below the waistband of his pants and those, too, were added to the scattered clothes strewn about the room.  She felt him against her thigh and it took everything in her not to reposition her hips, to tease him again.

His lips found hers again, hunger tempered by something else, the kiss almost gentle but not lacking in desire.  

“You’re sure about this?” He whispered.  “What about…?”

She nodded, breaking away to murmur that she was clean and on the pill, but they could use backup if he preferred or had other concerns.  

A gasp escaped her lips at his tip brushed against her.

“I don’t.”

“Neither do I,” Sophia buckled against him, teasing both of them, his tip hitting her clit again.

He was warm, hard against her heat.  She felt so empty without him, as if nothing else in the world could satisfy her except to have him buried deep inside her.  He entered her, pausing to let both of them adjust, to make this last. She, in turn, raised her hips to begin a slow and steady rhythm when she felt the need for friction become too much to bear.

Rain pattered the windows, and the storm continued on, but all she could feel was him.  

Their pace was slow at first, somewhere between cautious and gentle, as if perhaps this was all a dream.  Vincent slid an arm underneath her, holding her to him, skin on skin as she met him thrust for thrust. She tangled her hands in his hair at the base of his skull and raised a leg and tucked it around his, keeping him to her.  Sophia leveraged her other hip and flipped their positions. Vincent gave a quiet grunt at the sudden shift, watching her with wide eyes for a moment. His hand slid from her back and came to rest on her hips while his other hand brushed away the hair that had fallen into her face.  

Sophia sat up, her hands pressed against his chest as she rolled her hips, eliciting a gasp from the man beneath her.  Her rhythm was faster, although not much harder. Her moan turned into a surprised cry when his hands gripped her hips, keeping her still as he thrust up into her, brushing a spot deep inside her.  She could feel herself coming undone and heard him give a quiet hum of amusement at her shocked response.

“Vincent, I-” She choked out, her words twisting into a cry as she felt a spark ignite inside her.

She found herself on her back again, his hands still on her hips and her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers gripping his hair as she searched for something,  _ anything _ to hold onto.  

Everything seemed to melt into white-hot heat.  She only felt him, his lips on hers, his chest pressed against her as he brought her legs up to press deeper into her.  Vincent obliged her and her legs quivered as her walls clenched around him.

He whispered her name and buried his face in the crook of her neck to press kisses against her skin, never stopping in their pace.  She felt Vincent throb inside of her just as she came down from the first peak and she found herself coming again, harder as he kept going.  He gripped her hips with one hand as he brought the other up and laced his fingers in her hair, her release spurring his own.

They stayed there, breathing hard, neither of them wanting to be the first to pull away.  She untangled her legs from his and rolled over to turn on her bedside lamp. Sophia slowly sat up, still aching, and she shivered at the sensation.  She should dress, or at least locate her pants in the messy heap of covers so she could clean up. 

She glanced at Vincent, who seemed just as hesitant as she was.  Sophia quietly made her way to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth from the closet.  She was so focused on the soft fabric in her hands under the tap that she didn’t notice Vincent behind her until his hand carefully took the material from her.

“I can—” Sophia started, turning around, the counter cold against her back.  

“I know,” his voice was slightly hoarse as he spoke but she didn’t protest further as he pressed the cold cloth to her skin.

Finished, his fingers fell back to her neck and traced a small spot on her skin.  Sophia glanced up to find his eyes fixed on her neck and she turned to face the mirror again.  Her own eyes grew wide as she found the small bruises on the curve of her neck from when he’d bitten her earlier.  A deep red harsh against her skin, visible as clear as day. And in such a unique pattern that no one would mistake it for anything else.

Well, at least she wasn’t returning to work for another week.  

“My apologies,” Vincent met her gaze in the mirror.  “I hadn’t meant to actually leave a mark.”

Sophia traced her fingers over it, knowing it would be gone by the time she needed it to be.  “It didn’t hurt at the time. Not really, anyway. Next time just go lower.”

Vincent said nothing but it was obvious his thoughts were aligned with hers.   _ Would  _ there be a next time?  The question hung in the air between them; it was one she didn’t want to think about just yet.  The impulsive part of her said there would be.

Sophia cocked her head as she took in Vincent’s visage and then smirked when she realized what a mess she’d made of his well-coiffed hair.  She’d seen him with bed head, if she could even call it that, but  _ this _ ...this was her handiwork.  Vincent Karm, undone.

“You should keep that style, looks good on you,” she quipped, exhaustion making her smile easy and almost carefree.

He’d been looking in the mirror but it was as if her words broke some kind of reverie and he finally took in his own appearance.  He ran his hands through his hair, attempting to settle it back down and failing. He narrowed his eyes and gave a sly grin in return.

“You’ll pay for that,  _ ma chérie _ .”

Her smirk turned into a smile as she laughed.  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

Sophia walked out of the bathroom and crossed the threshold into the bedroom only to find arms beneath her and her feet no longer touching the floor.  She looked up to find the grin on Vincent’s face still present.

“You don’t think so?”

“Not paying for what is  _ definitely _ an improvement,” she teased.  “And I’d do it again. Just to annoy you.”

“Whatever am I going to do with you, Sophia?”

“You’ll figure it out eventually.”

They returned to bed, although this time, with every intention to sleep.  Sophia curled up next to him and rested her head in the crook of her shoulder, vaguely realizing the storm had given way to just rain as she drifted off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Vincent stirred slightly, sleep broken by the thin strip of sunlight trickling through the curtains.He felt skin against skin, intertwined legs, long hair tickling his cheek.Warmth.His arms were holding…

He opened his eyes a crack so the bright line across the room didn’t blind him.Dark hair, wavy and tangled, the mark on her neck still very visible against her pale skin.He hadn’t meant to bite her that hard.Just enough to surprise her.

Sleep was the only time she was ever truly still.She didn’t move a lot when she was in bed, unless she couldn’t fall asleep.That hadn’t happened in months, now that they were used to sharing space.

She moved in a very different way last night and it had nothing to do with restlessness. 

He swallowed hard at the thought of last night’s activities.They discussed this, that it wasn’t necessary or expected, that they could seek out different partners if they wished to.Not that he hadn’t thought about it.He had thought about her in that context longer than he cared to admit.She was attractive, he’d have been a fool not to acknowledge that when they first met.It often hid her intellect and worked in her favor.He’d learned that the hard way.

He wondered if she was the type to be okay with waking up in someone’s arms.They never woke up like that.If he was ever close to her, he pulled away to not make her uncomfortable.She did the same occasionally, he knew, correcting herself in her sleep before promptly laying still again.

It felt...nice to wake up holding someone again. 

He didn’t regret this.Any of it.He rarely regretted anything, to be fair, but this...no.She’d asked for closeness, for friendship, and now they’d crossed a threshold they never entirely expected to.At least not this soon.They were going to have to address it, yes, but not because he didn’t want it to happen again.

Sophia stirred against him and he inhaled sharply when she stretched.Her eyes blinked open and it took a moment for her to turn her head and look st him.Part of him expected her to flush as she recalled the previous night, shrink away and draw that line between them.

She was the one who asked for closeness but he never wanted to assume the extent to which she wanted it. 

Sophia instead pulled her legs away so she could turn and face him.Vincent reached over and pushed a lock of hair out of her face.They stayed like that, silence only broken by the birds outside.He half expected some smart comment from her but none came.Instead, she said, “I enjoyed last night.And this morning.”

He knew she’d enjoyed it, he’d felt that, but a part of him didn’t expect her to admit it.At least, not so openly.His eyes fell to her hair, enjoying the way the color caught the light.He could make out a few bits of chestnut among the dark locks and the faint touches of honey brown highlights she’d grown out.How had he never noticed the variations before?

“I did as well,” he said, finding her eyes again.“Would you like to do it again?”

“Yes,” she said and averted her gaze for a moment, as if embarrassed by her eagerness.“Not this second, obviously, but...yes.”

She met his gaze again and he swallowed hard, recognizing the earnestness he enjoyed when they first met.Sophia knew what she wanted and she wanted him. 

Vincent had to force himself to remember to breathe for a moment.He couldn’t get ahead of himself; it was just sex, after all. 

Wasn’t it?

“Vincent?”

“Hmm?”

Her brow creased slightly and her lips formed a word but she seemed to think better of it.“Thank you,” Sophia whispered.“For...dealing with everything last night.And for last night.And this morning.”

“It was always an option, Sophia.I did say I wouldn’t mind…”

“We did a _lot_ of tumbling.”

Vincent’s hand left her waist and traced the bruised flesh bearing his mark.“Too rough?”

“Hardly.Initially...unexpected.Just choose a spot I can hide easier next time.”

He could think of many things that were unexpected at that moment.One of which was how much he enjoyed seeing her like this, next to him, languid and...dare he think...content.In their time together, from their first meeting until now, he’d never seen her actually content.Vincent wondered if that had to do with her profession more than her as a person.Sophia wanted to do something with herself, with her skills, and she couldn’t afford to merely be content, he knew that much. 

But there was an ease about her, between them.The elephant finally exiting the room.

He watched as Sophia’s lips formed words that never came.She second guessed herself and closed her mouth again, instead offering a smile with a mischievous look.

He could live the rest of his life only seeing that expression.Vincent pushed that thought away as quickly as it came.No.He was getting ahead of himself again.The last person he thought that about wasn’t here anymore.He felt the dark thought tugging on his heart and he did his best to keep his face impassive.

“Any plans for the day?” She asked, the glimmer in her eyes erasing his thought as quickly as it came.

“I wanted to leave the remainder of the trip for you to do as you wished.We could take a few days and go to Nice or Saint Tropez.I keep my boat in the south.The floods didn’t do her justice, truthfully.”

“We didn’t get to really do that in Faa’a, and we didn’t sail when we went north,” Sophia murmured thoughtfully.“I should see more of France.I can’t quite claim to be a citizen after I take my test if I’ve only stayed in the center.”

Vincent took a strand of her hair between his fingers, appreciating how soft it felt.It slipped through his fingers as she pulled away and got out of bed.He felt the echoes of her skin against his, the warm places where their bodies had touched tingling ever so slightly. 

“We can plan during breakfast?” Sophia asked as she pulled the duvet with her. 

She left behind the sheet as she padded to the bathroom, the material just covering his hips.He didn’t miss the smirk on her lips when she realized the precarious positioning of the sheet. 

“Of course,” he replied.

Vincent waited until the door shut and he quietly pulled open the night table drawer next to him.It contained the usual things, an extra charger, some papers, over the counter medication and the like.At the back of the drawer was a small, dark wooden box. 

It had been Paul’s.

He opened it carefully, looking at the faded picture tucked into the corner on the inside of the lid.Lovely Paul.It’d felt the same with him, too.This...feeling.

This frightening feeling.

Vincent brushed his fingers over the cuff links, the watch that long since stopped working.He’d bought all of these for him.He pulled the top tray out of the small box and set it on the table.There were letters here, letters of grief, of pain.Vincent picked them up carefully but didn’t remove them, checking under them.

Three vials of luminous blue liquid.

Just as he’d left him before his arrest.

He heard the bathroom door open suddenly and looked up to catch Sophia’s eye as she came back out.Steam wafted out of the doorway and he could hear the shower running.She was holding the blanket awkwardly, a towel tucked around her in its place.She piled the blanket on the bed and returned to the bathroom, the carefully tucked towel falling before she even crossed the threshold.

“You can join me, if you’d like,” she said, her tone as teasing as it had been the night before.

Vincent looked down at the box before setting everything back inside and placing it back in the drawer.He discarded the sheet and followed Sophia, knowing she had more than just a shower on her mind.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I'm finally finished with my grad program so I have more time to write again. Thank you for patience and I hope you enjoy!

Sophia expected her desk to be buried but not to this degree.  Perhaps a giant pile of papers and books and magazines. Not bouquets of flowers and cards and tiny gifts.  

She could barely find her keyboard or see her screen underneath all of the leaves and flowers.  She could only stare for a moment and wonder where to even begin.

It was actually rather embarrassing to have to move everything.  Her immediate coworkers asked about Tahiti, commenting on her slightly darker skin and the splattering of freckles that had begun to show themselves across her nose and on her shoulders.  All of them, despite knowing the vague history between Vincent and their boss, were genuine in their conversation, or so Sophia liked to think. The younger woman across from her gave an eyebrow waggle and Sophia resisted the urge to throw a pen at her as she felt her face grow hot.

Her mind didn’t need to go _there_.  Especially now, when she had a repository of memories to rely on.  The last week was a blur of strewn clothes, kisses, and touches. She kept waiting for the impending doom of regret to sink into her stomach but it never came.  She didn’t regret their first time and all the others were just as good.

They’d addressed it as they had all other things, openly and frankly.  It could be a regular occurrence, as long as both of them wanted it to be.  Which they did. She knew Vincent lived a life of indulgence prior to their arrangement, even prior to her arrival in Paris.  And she’d gone too long without being touched.

Words had been on the tip of her tongue that night of the storm when her mind was caught up in ecstasy and bliss.  Three of them, in fact.

But she knew better.  They’d been married for a month and she actually knew Vincent for less than it would seem.  Both of her investigations lasted a few weeks; despite their seemingly long history, it was a fairly short one.  Except this time, she’d actually made it to the altar.

She was eager in many ways for different parts of her life but she’d uttered those words so rapidly last time that she wasn’t willing to do it again.  Not yet.

 _Sex doesn’t mean love,_ Sophia thought.  _T_ _hat’s all it was.  Really,_ really _good sex._

She didn’t need love to have sex but in that moment, the words were the only thing she could find to describe precisely what she felt.

That was something they’d agreed upon and Vincent more than understood the need without complicating their situation further.

Sophia bit her lip as she remembered an afternoon off the southern coast the previous weekend.  They’d driven for almost eight hours from Chartres to Montpellier and then sailed the southeastern coast for a few days.  She’d barely bothered to really dress beyond her bathing suit or a loose wrap dress. Everything always seemed to make its way to the floor and stay there.

She was so preoccupied she hadn’t heard the chatter die down into quiet murmurs as Raphael walked in.

“Sophia, my office, ten minutes,” he said as he passed by.

Whatever color on her face she’d gained thinking of her exploits drained in seconds.  With trembling hands, and knowing watchful eyes were on her, she rearranged the rest of the gifts in such a way that she could finally see the surface of her desk before she sat down.

* * *

Her left hand suddenly felt very heavy as she walked into Raphael’s office and shut the door behind her.  

His office was clean.  Immaculate, actually.

“Are you...okay?” She ventured, her eyes scanning the bare brick wall behind his desk.

He had a map of Paris up there originally.  Along with clues and ideas about the riddle Heloise had left behind.  Her first visit to this office had been where he told her of his ulterior motive for bringing her to Paris.  Where he uttered words that occasionally still haunted her whenever she looked at him. She’d never forget how big and innocent his eyes had been under the Essence, how love at first sight had colored their relationship.

He’d admitted that while the Essence was a factor, it had, in that moment, only brought out feelings he’d been attempting to, very poorly, hide.  He was grateful that was the case rather than his infatuation being fixed on Karm.

Sophia could only imagine how that would have gone.  

“I cleaned before I left, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

The papers were gone, another filing cabinet had been added.  His precious cabinet full of books and curiosities was dusted and polished.  The print of Heloise and Abelard (the real one was in his apartment) was _finally_ hanging on the wall.

He’d gotten his shit together.  Or he’d had someone tidy it for him in his absence, not that he’d admit that.  It had looked the same as it had originally many months prior, when she’d held an alcohol fueled party to find her suspect.  So the clean-up was recent. _Very_ recent.

That felt like decades ago now.  All of it did. Kat’s death still held a vice-like grip on her heart when she let it and the Essence business felt almost ancient.  Not because she’d married Vincent but because everyone had changed, somehow, in the span of such a short time.

“I have some papers for you to sign, from Legal.  Along with all of the name and address confirmation changes and…”  Raphael said as he dropped a stack of papers onto his desk.

“Doesn’t HR handle this sort of thing?” Sophia shot back, drawing her eyes away from the brown and red stone and looking at Raphael for the first time all morning.

“Given the nature of the situation, I wanted to handle it personally.”

Sophia gazed out of the window, her eyes tracing the way she usually left the office to head back home.  Or rather, the path she used to take. Before she moved into a different arrondissement. Before she changed her last name.  Before deportation was a concern.

Damn her home country’s politics.

And damn Raphael, too.  Singling her out like this, on her first day back.  Their history was an open secret with many of the other editors and writers and he’d never hidden his hatred for Vincent Karm.  It was like being called into the principal’s office at school.

He never even brought up his visit.  One that was not only embarrassing but disrespectful.  Rivalry was one thing. Barging in to someone else’s home and demanding to see them was another.  

“Is there an apology in there somewhere?”  Sophia asked, turning back to her boss.

“For you or your...husband?”

“Both. Either,”  she shrugged, walking back over to the desk and ignoring the chairs.  “I don’t really care.”

 _I suppose I should thank him, really.  But I’m not about to bring up_ that _subject.  He doesn’t need more ammunition for his jealousy._

“Fine.  I’m sorry.”

He didn’t mean it one bit.  Of course he didn’t. If she didn’t love _City of Love_ so much, she’d work elsewhere.  But her application also relied on employment and the two of them knew that.  She was stuck here until further notice.

“You didn’t have to go and—”

“I didn’t exactly get any help from you.  Vincent’s offer was the easier solution.”

 _It wasn’t as if anyone else came to see me and try to spring me free._   She thought.   _He had no right to help me catch Marion and he did.  He had no right to help me stay here and he did. He’s as multifaceted as the diamonds TJ stole for him_.

“You could have found a different way.”

“Yes, well, I tend to do things the hard way, don’t I?”  Sophia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from talking further as she took the papers from the top of his desk and finally sat down herself.

She flipped through them.  Standard change of address forms, emergency contact forms, and a non-disclosure agreement.  Sophia skimmed the document, all of it pertaining to not discussing projects with Vincent. Anything confidential was to be kept at her desk and not taken home.  A separate clause, amended in handwriting, mentioned she was not to work from home unless otherwise necessary, in order to avoid any further conflicts of interest or stolen intellectual property.

“Really, Raphael?”  Sophia scoffed, trying her luck.  “An NDA like this is hard to enforce.”

“You married the man who owns several competing companies.  It really borders on conflict of interest for you to work here but if you sign this, there’s at least documentation that we took stops to mitigate stolen intellectual property.  Vincent isn’t the only one with a board of trustees breathing down his neck.”

“I thought you owned the magazine outright.”

“I _did_.  Until I went global.  And now I have a responsibility to shareholders.”

He had yet to actually sit down.  His shoulders were squared and he was tense, although he tried to look otherwise with his thumbs in his pockets.  She knew if she prodded, he’d admit what was bothering him but she didn’t bring herself to ask. It didn’t really matter, not anymore.  Not that she ever expected them to reconcile entirely, not after she left her ring and fled Paris without so much as a goodbye.

There was hypocrisy in her actions.  Engaged and married to a man she knew for all of a few months.  Which was what she was going to do with Raphael. Only...she hadn’t been so hesitant with Vincent, had she?  

The circumstances were different, she rationalized.  She needed a way to stay here and fix her naturalization process.  That’s all it was. Just business.

“You’re afraid Vincent would use me to steal from you? _”_ Sophia said after a moment, looking up from the papers in her lap.

“This was the best I could do,” Raphael gestured to the piece of paper.  “Many would prefer to have had you let go, your reputation and situation be damned.”

If she didn’t sign, she’d likely be out of a job.  And he knew that. She didn’t have a choice but to…

“I’m beholden to you, is that it?” She asked, leaning forward in her seat, craning her neck slightly to look at him properly.  “Am I supposed to be grateful that you’re putting me in a terrible position all because you’re saving my employment?”

“Employment you need, marriage or not.  You could simply thank me, Sophia. They were willing to boot me out for sticking up for you.”

“And that’s supposed to motivate me?  This isn’t about _you_ , Raphael, yet somehow you keep—“

“And it isn’t about _you_ , either.  It’s about the good of the company.  I didn’t start this magazine from nothing only for my downfall to be Vincent Karm because he married my best writer and my ex-fiancé.”

“You know we wouldn’t have worked out,” she whispered.

“That doesn’t make it hurt any less.  Either sign it or grab a box and leave by ten.”

Sophia shook her head but begrudgingly signed the document.  She slapped the pen on top of the papers after she placed them on his desk and rose to leave.  When she got to the door, she paused, hand on the knob and looked over her shoulder.  She wanted to say something but thought better of it and returned to her desk.

* * *

Part of her wish they’d never returned to Paris.  

She wouldn’t be chained to her desk to meet her deadlines, she wouldn’t be so on edge from the constant barrage of emails, and she wouldn’t have the throbbing behind her eyes.  In the past weeks since she’d returned to  _City of Love_  she’d been given project after difficult project.  Which wouldn’t have been much of an issue, if not for her restrictions.  She was behind and nowhere near where she should have been in this culture piece.

She’d asked Vincent the night she first went back to work if it was even legal, to which he’d replied it was.  He’d even complimented on Raphael’s shrewdness to cover himself.

Now she was the one who came to bed late.  Some days they never saw each other. And when they did, she could see he wanted to say something, _anything,_  about pushing back against the volume of work she was being given without the means to complete it.  _T_ _hat_ , he’d mentioned, would be a lack of resources to properly do her job, resources everyone else had.

But he, too, knew that if she quit, all of this was for nothing.  She wasn’t a freelance journalist and she wasn’t allowed to be, not yet.  She’d signed a non-compete clause when she was re-hired, as she had the first time.  She was stuck, for now, until other means were open to her. She no longer cared about her work as she always did, didn’t care about getting the story as much as she used to; she didn’t have time to properly portray every detail the way she wanted to.

It was hard not taking some of her work with her.  It was harder still not working from home when her deadlines began to quickly pile up.  She was functional, but only just, having gotten little sleep earlier that morning.

She’d already had to raincheck an evening out with Vincent, something she hadn’t wanted to even consider doing.  It was important that they spent time together, as they had before the wedding, especially just to keep up appearances with the necessary press.  They didn’t see or talk much to each other as it was. Vincent had, instead, sent Eugene off for the night and prepared dinner himself. She’d texted that maybe going out wasn’t a good option when she was liable to end up face-first in her dinner from exhaustion.

They’d still talked, they’d still ended up spending most of the evening together with a movie, but she’d been too tired to enjoy much of it.

She checked her phone.  No new messages.

And now, she had the overwhelming feeling she’d forgotten something else they were supposed to do tonight.  He hadn’t texted her, nor had Eugene come inside to meet her (a compromise she’d had to plead for since Vincent wasn’t allowed in the building).  The sensation nagged the back of her mind and kept her from properly proofreading her sentences as she searched for a way to get her mind back into the topic.  She was beyond done with tonight and that wasn’t helping. If it was important, Vincent would have told her so.

Raphael’s light was still on and she could hear the soft voice of two of the chief editors alongside his.  Discussing future layouts and possible stories. They’d be done soon; no one ever stayed past eight unless it was the night before a limited-edition release print or the deadline was pushed up.

There was a full editorial critique tomorrow.  She was nearly done with all of her contributions for the coming months but she felt this one wasn’t finished, not quite.  It needed...something. Panache. Flair. It felt so flat.

She took another sip of coffee, cold now, and told herself once she finished this paragraph, she could go home.  Eugene was probably sick of waiting for her by now.

Sophia sighed and rubbed her eyes before typing out a finishing sentence.  It wasn’t perfect. She had a little time tomorrow to fix it just before the deadline.  For now, she’d made her own quota and she couldn’t take her grumbling and protesting stomach anymore.

She packed her things and logged off of her computer.  Just as she predicted, Eugene was still outside when she exited the building, his expression weary as he escorted her to the car.  What she hadn’t predicted was Vincent to be in the car already. He was never in the car when she was picked up late. She was so tired she’d missed him entirely.

“I was already out,” he explained, when she remained silent.  “It made more sense to wait than have Eugene make two trips.”

“Of course,” she replied, her brain finally working for a moment.  “I hadn’t expected to take this long…”

Her eyes felt heavy and her head was pounding.  She winced when she caught sight of a bright set of lights from a passing car.  The lack of food didn’t help either. No matter where she looked, her head ached and her eyes felt like icepicks were being driven behind them.

She rested her head on the window, enjoying the cool glass against her temple.  Sophia heard a bottle of medicine being popped open, pills being dropped into the cup holder of the armrest between them, and the small refrigerator between the seats being opened and shut.  She cracked her left eye to find a bottle of water resting in the armrest. She could just make out Vincent putting something away behind the driver’s seat.

“I forgot something, didn’t I?” Sophia asked, trying to push away the gnawing sense from earlier.

“There was an opening you were meant to accompany me to.  I made your excuses,” Vincent’s crisp voice cut through the silence as she pulled away from the window and peered down at the pills.  

Just acetaminophen, she realized, when she saw the red and blue capsules.  Sophia plucked them from their resting place along with the water bottle and swallowed them.  It would help to at least take the edge off of the pain.

“I’m sorry,” Sophia replied before taking another swig of water, something else she’d probably neglected to do properly as of late.

“I’m not angry.  Merely concerned you might be pushing yourself too hard.  You remember that our agreement included caring about general well-being, keeping up appearances?”

“Yes.”

“It’s easy to mistake your exhaustion for...well, several things.”

“What do you mean?”  Sophia took another sip of water.  She couldn’t do vague. Not right now.

Vincent didn’t answer her immediately and only raised his eyebrows, as if waiting for her to catch on.  Usually he wasn’t this obtuse anymore, not with her, but she knew even he still had some topics he was cautious about.  Which she normally didn’t mind when she’d had a decent night’s sleep.

She wasn’t able to think straight but surely…they would only assume they were fighting or there was stress between them.  Nothing more. Besides, it was…too early for other considerations. Or was it? She mentally counted how long it’d been since their almost-something-else moment in Tahiti was shown across tabloids and magazines.

Realization dawned on her face and she met his gaze, her mouth parted before she let out a understanding, “Oh.”

“Someone drew conclusions thanks to those photographs.  Needless to say, that’s a question that’ll keep arising for the remainder of our marriage.”

He made it sound so… _finite_.  As if there would be an end.  She wanted to ask if that was what he thought, that she’d leave the second she could.  Her younger self would have screamed in joy at the prospect. But two years and one murder later, she wasn’t so sure.  Vincent was always unapologetically himself, no matter the side he showed. And she’d seen many of them, none of them less true than another.

He was familiar, a strange comfort to have in a city and a country still not her own.  Her experience and knowledge of Paris wouldn’t be the same if not for him, she realized.  She would have found the essence, at some point, but not without Vincent as the catalyst.   

Then again, his words left it open, didn’t they?  He didn’t specify their five-year timeline. Or any time at all.  Just the remainder of their union. However long it would be.

Sophia felt a dull pang in her chest at that thought.  That although five years was certain, the rest was not.

“At least such rumors are often expected and easy to fight,” Vincent said.  “But the longer you overextend yourself, the more digging someone might do and assume the stress is between us.”

“I’m ruining the optics,” she nodded, understanding how easily it would be to weave that story when the pages needed filler stories.

“Unintentionally.  I understand the current situation and how you work; I saw you faint from shock and exhaustion before, after all.  But perhaps it might be good to…”

“Take a break.”

“Yes.”

 _What else am I supposed to do?_  She wanted to snap but the thought stayed firmly in her mind, where it belonged.

But he was right, she knew.  Here she was, killing herself to meet her deadlines and cover where they needed the help, when she wasn’t able to work from home like the rest of her coworkers.  All because she’d chosen to marry the man next to her.

Who she owed just as much to.  She’d agreed to make sure that, no matter what happened between them behind closed doors, that she’d maintain the illusion of their happiness and wellbeing.  It meant she was happy here, assimilating, it meant Vincent was taking his responsibilities more seriously (not that she never doubted he did, but his brush with the law seemed to make him hesitate a little, perhaps if only because it would mean losing his namesake again).  Ultimately, a happy couple meant less press and fewer noses where they didn’t belong.

“I don’t have much choice when I’m confined to my desktop,” she said.  “If I didn’t sign that agreement, I could have been fired, and now I’m stuck to abide by it.”

“ _W_ _ould_ you have been fired?  Is there certainty in that, or was he lying in order to make himself feel better?  He’s withheld the truth from you before.”

Sophia didn’t reply.  She didn’t have to. Her past with Raphael was just as rocky as it was with Vincent.  Neither had a good track record for being forthcoming and straightforward. Although, she had to admit, Vincent’s metaphors were often more truthful than he’d ever admit.

“I know half of his board members and none of them so much as mentioned considering firing you for the negative publicity.  If anything, they’re on your side, and I say that as neutrally as I can. I concede that it is a conflict of interest but it doesn’t warrant punishing you and hindering you from doing your job properly.”

“I can handle it.”

She didn’t want his help, his influence, to solve this.  It would only show that she couldn’t do anything for herself.  

“No one said you couldn’t.  But was the last time you slept?  Or ate a full meal? Truly sat down and tasted your food instead of eating at the kitchen island as though you had no time to even eat?”

Her stomach growled loudly in protest at the mere mention of food.

“I…”  She began, the rest of her sentence dying in her throat.  She didn’t know what to say. She’d never let work consume her like this because she’d had options.  That flexibility she knew so well was no longer available and it crushed her.

Vincent turned his gaze from hers to the road, elbow on the armrest of the door as his thumb brushed his bottom lip.  “I’ve seen you work but never like this. You’re pushing beyond your limits, to what end? If it’s because you’re unhappy, why—”

“No!” Sophia ignored the sharp pain as she turned her head quickly, her own voice loud to her ears.  “No, that’s not why.”

He didn’t look at her but she continued.  

“It’s the only job I’ve ever had in Paris.  I’m attached to it. And I need a good employment record for my application.  The magazine is respectable, even if the circumstances of my position aren’t great.  And I _am_ still doing investigations, they’re just slower than I’d prefer.”

“Any number of publications would take you.”

“But how many of them would do it out of fear of your wrath or influence?   _That_ is not something I could live with.”

“You’d rather punish yourself?”

“At least then I know I put my all into everything and it wasn’t handed to me.  Do you know how utterly easy it would be for me to walk into any other publication, give my name, and get whatever I wanted not only because I saved Paris twice, but because I’m the wife of a powerful and wealthy businessman who owns more business than I even know exist?”

“That’s not who you are.  Not unless you’re sticking your nose somewhere,” Vincent said thoughtfully.

“Exactly.  Which is why I like _City of Love_.  My last name doesn’t mean anything.  My boss knows what I’m capable of. I’m already fighting to stay here at it is.  I don’t want to struggle with self-doubt on the actual why I was hired. There’s…comfort there.  Familiarity.”

 _There’s familiarity with you too_ , she thought, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth.   _And comfort, as...unorthodox as it might be_.

She had a fleeting thought about Kat.  Her time with the magazine reminded her of when Kat was still here.  Of a time before things were too complicated. How excited she’d been to come to Paris, of the nights they’d cook together and go out late.  Her anchor. Kat was her anchor. And now she was searching for something to cling to while she treaded water as she waited for her citizenship process to move forward.  Vincent was more like a cinder block tied to her feet than an anchor; if he sank, so did she. And she might not be able to come back from it.

Or perhaps she was letting herself drown anyway.

“You said you’re not comfortable with the weight of influence you last name now carries and yet you’re letting it rule over you,” Vincent said.  “It _does_ have a meaning if Raphael can hold it against you.  You made your decisions. Hurting you and trying to control you isn’t going to change them.”

“No,” Sophia replied, her mind beginning to wake up a little.  “But he personally wins if all of this looks exactly as he wants it to.  He can’t feel upset when my marriage crumbles. It only rationalizes that he did nothing wrong and I was the problem.  That it wasn’t just his own behavior driving us apart.”

“He holds grudges for a long time,” Vincent murmured.  “Perhaps he thinks he’s doing you a favor.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time his intentions were misplaced,” she agreed.  “There’s an editorial meeting tomorrow that should be...interesting.”

Dread filled her stomach at the thought of it again.  She’d been too caught up writing earlier to really feel it but now it flared up inside her and made her insides heavy.  She hadn’t mentioned the last one they’d had a few weeks ago, when she first came back, which had been disastrous for several people, herself included.  She’d held herself together long enough to leave the office and cried the entire drive home.

Poor Eugene.  She’d made him swear not to tell Vincent what happened.  She had no way of knowing but her husband had yet to confront her about it.  She knew he would have wanted to intervene and she couldn’t let him. This was her battle, the consequences of her choice.

Unless it happened again. She promised herself that if tomorrow went poorly, she’d tell him.  Until then, she considered it merely a hiccup in having been away from her work for so long.

“You make it sound anything but.”

“A necessary evil.  Kind of like you. Except I like when you’re…not as evil,” Sophia turned her head away to rest it against the window.

The cold felt good.  So good. She kept the water bottle in her lap and closed her eyes for a moment.  

They hadn’t moved for a while but they were still far from the penthouse.  Eugene mentioned something about lights ahead and that the roads ahead were blocked off.  Due to their proximity to the river, there wasn’t much to be done; there were few roads that weren’t congested with those trying to already circumvent the mess.

She heard Vincent ask Eugene for something from the front seat and then she felt the back of a hand at her cheek. His hands were only slightly cooler than her cheek but she instinctively leaned into it.  

Was he checking her for a fever?  He withdrew his touch when she opened her eyes but he fixed her hair before moving away entirely.  She saw the armrest was folded back up into the seat and a blanket was draped across his thighs, not entirely unfolded.

“There’s an accident several blocks away, we might be here for a little while.  You’ll hurt your neck that way,” he said, patting the blanket softly.

The back seats of the car had elevated footrests, a feature of top tier luxury sedans.  She still wasn’t used to the Maybach, truthfully, but it made long rides more comfortable than she’d experienced before.  Sophia shifted so her feet were still on the footrest and her upper body laid across the back seat, her head in his lap. She felt him tense slightly, despite the blanket between them.  He didn’t know what to do with his right arm and kept it

It wasn’t the most comfortable but it was better than resting straight up.  

“Better?”

Sophia nodded and she felt some of his tension ease.  She felt his right hand hesitantly lay on her shoulder after a moment, as if unsure whether to touch her.  Strange. They’d woken up tangled together countless times by now but this was what made him second guess. But she wasn’t feeling well, and perhaps he thought she preferred being left alone.  

In any other car, she’d have preferred to just stay against the window.  Eugene was so careful with the pedals though that as they slowly worked their way through the late night congestion, she barely felt any movement at all.  She felt light sleep grasping for her but she held back. She didn’t want to inconvenience Vincent by falling asleep on him, only to have to wake her up.

She’d fallen asleep on him once, unintentionally, and woken up to fingers in her hair.  He reminded her of a cat sometimes, the way he played with her strands of hair, something she did too when she was thinking.  Occasionally, she’d woken up to find the remnants of a tiny braid in her hair, one she didn’t remember making. None of her previous partners had ever played with it so much, not to her recollection.

They eventually neared the flashing lights, the reds and blues pulling her back from the cusp of sleep as they paused before the roadblock.  Sophia felt light fingers through her hair, just barely touching her scalp. Tracing her hairline. Vincent felt tense again beneath her and she reached out a hand to his knee, a gesture she’d meant to be comforting as well as questioning.  

He said nothing in return but she heard a sharp intake of air, his fingers never once leaving her hair.  

 _Oh_ .  Oh.   _Of course.  Of course car accidents would…_ Sophia realized.

“Vincent, look at me,” she said, turning onto her back and looking up at him.

His eyes were fixed on the window, glued to whatever he could see of the accident.  He was lost. So lost. She recognized that look, one she’d found in the mirror more than she cared to admit, especially since the catacombs and the flood.  He wasn’t here, not really. He was years away, reliving something too painful to ever forget.

“Vincent, look at me,” Sophia repeated.

She reached up and brushed her fingers against his jaw to get his attention carefully.  He jolted underneath her touch but heeded, his eyes slowly losing focus on his memories and coming back to the present.  

“Breathe.  You’re safe.  They’re safe, too.  Focus on me. Tell me how you got Esteban.”

He was still tense, ram-rod straight, but his breathing felt a little even again.

“I adopted him, of course, how else do you obtain a pet?”  He replied, his eyes drifting towards the window even though his head stayed in place.

“No, how did you pick him?  How did you know he was the one for you?”

His eyes found hers again and she saw a vague understanding flicker through peridot irises.  She was distracting him, despite her own pain and exhaustion.

“Someone I knew through an acquaintance had a litter of puppies they were looking to find homes for.  I had the pick first, having been one of the first to have heard. There were a few that were clearly stronger or more loving but Esteban was the quiet one of the group.  He’d play but he kept his distance, always watching. He was the one who played with me the most, in the end, and never once attempted to do more than climb things he shouldn’t.  He never tried to assert himself as the dominant one and understood he was the one who would take orders.”

Vincent told her about the banana toy, how it was something Paul had wanted to give to any dog they eventually adopted.  How Esteban had found it himself and spent every night with it in his bed, curled up around the yellow toy. His mention of Paul was strained, something she’d expected, but he never once looked back out the window to his left as he told the story.  He’d even smiled a little. He relaxed, shifting slightly to do so, and continued to speak, and she listened, his voice giving her something to focus on return.

Soon enough, they were past the flashing lights and the traffic was normal again.

“That hasn’t happened in a long time,” he murmured as he turned his head back to the window.

“That might be why it did, considering...I mean, I asked about Paul.  I’m the one who brought up everything after the wedding.”

“He’s been on my mind, yes, but not...not in that way.  He passed in the summer. And being exhausted in the backseat of a car only enhanced…”

Sophia reached up and placed her right hand on his chest to get his attention again.  “If you ever need someone to…”

“I know,” he placed a hand over hers.  “I suppose it helps that you probably…”

“I understand.  We’re alike in that, too.  In pain and the problems it’s left behind,”  Sophia shifted her head to look towards the roof of the car.  Her neck was beginning to cramp just looking at him. “It hasn’t happened yet but running water that I can’t give context to sets me on edge.  I’m a little claustrophobic now. Never was before…” She felt his hand in her hair begin to move again, more soothing than he likely even knew.  “So, I know.”

They were silent for the rest of the ride home and eventually Sophia felt her eyes grow heavy again as the sharp stabbing came back in the front of her head.  She woke momentarily when she felt she was being moved, only to find herself a few feet above the ground and her head cradled against a shoulder. She began to protest until she realized they were in the lobby of the building and she saw Eugene, Vincent’s briefcase over his shoulder and her purse in hand.  Which meant…

“You know, you’re heavier than before,” Vincent said softly as they entered the elevator.

“Am I?  Well, at least you don’t have to walk me across the city.”

“No, but both of us are going upstairs this time.”

Sophia let out a derisive breath from her nose at the memory again but said nothing.  Instead, she buried her head into the crook of his neck as she remembered his assumption after their kiss.  And then still how they’d spent so much time exploring each other.

“Why don’t you see if…” Vincent began before pausing for a long moment in thought.  “Oh, who’s the security woman who worked with you? Has a son?”

“Louise?”

“ _O_ _ui_.  Why not see if she and her son are free this weekend?  Or one of your other friends? You haven’t been able to see them lately.”

That was true.  She’d been caught up in wedding planning that she’d done little more than justify herself.  Louise had understood her decision, although it had taken a lot of convincing, and she just hadn’t had time since they returned to catch up with her.  TJ had been just as adamant against her decision but he’d sent her photos from his workshop or checked in with her every few days or so. She’d been there for him when he was still working for Vincent, he’d said, and he’d be a poor friend if he let his anger cloud their friendship.  Not to mention he was probably one of the few who knew Kat as well as she did. Her mind wandered to Leo, to Tristan, to Noor. She wondered how the younger woman was dealing with Harvard and the Ivy League life.

 _It’s not like I can work on weekends anyway, not without going in.  Maybe lunch with Louise? It_ would _be nice to see her again.  And Luc. I wonder how tall he is now…_

“That’s...a nice idea.  I’ll text her tomorrow and see if she’s free,” Sophia murmured in agreement.  “I’m a little surprised you’d even…”

“Your friendships are your strengths, Sophia.  It is with them that you’ve been able to accomplish so much, aside from your own skill.”

The elevator doors opened to the corridor of the penthouse floor and the three of them were greeted by a sleepy Esteban on the couch near a swishing tail.  Both pets were waiting for their masters, keeping a watch on the door. Eugene went about his responsibilities and Vincent carried her upstairs, despite her slight protest that she could easily walk.  

“You’re on that list of people, you know.  I couldn’t have saved Paris without you. I wouldn’t have closure without your help.”

“I couldn’t very well let my home drown,” he replied, a little more cooly than she expected.  Or maybe hoped.

He set her down in the bedroom before they both went about their evening routine.  As hungry as she was, she hated eating this late, as well. Sophia glanced at Vincent as she was plucking pajamas from her dresser.  He was putting his cufflinks away and beginning to undo his tie when she caught sight of the slight color in his face.

Had she...embarrassed him?  Merely by speaking the truth?  She _did_ consider him a friend, at least by now.  Perhaps something more, with time, but a friend nonetheless.  She didn’t want to get ahead of herself only to find she’d been outmaneuvered and played like an idiot.  Or misled entirely.

After all, that was what Vincent Karm was best known for.  Manipulation. Husband though he might be, he was still a dangerous man.  Even if he was on her side.

He’d proven himself to be loyal, steadfast, and even kind at times.  Understanding. Patient.

Vincent caught her eye and she held his gaze, despite wanting to turn away and go about her business.  She didn’t need clarification, not really. They weren’t expecting much out of their arrangement other than what was on paper.  And while friendly, she could understand, too, the idea that they weren’t necessarily friends.

 _After all, you don’t sleep with people who are_ just friends _,_ Sophia mused.

Vincent folded the tie with great care and placing it into one of the many drawers in the closet.  “It’s...been a long time since someone considered me anything other than a means to an end.”

The smile he gave her was stiff, a signal she knew well by now.  Their conversation on the topic was over. Despite her exhaustion, Sophia heart ached.  She only wished she knew why.


	11. Chapter 11

Sophia followed another writer into the boardroom, a notepad and a fresh cup of coffee in hand.  Others filed in after, scanning the room for seat choices and others still turning to leave, forgetting the ban on personal devices.

She was glad to have worked out her plans with Louise before the meeting.  Although the woman was still far from thrilled about her decision, she admitted she didn’t hate her for it.  It didn’t mean she’d gone to the dark side, not really. She even understood Sophia’s rationalization; Luc didn’t need to be dragged into it and Louise had only more success after the floods.  Vincent had the means of dealing with the bureaucracy without burning it down that the editor-turned-security-officer didn’t.

“You’re still an idiot though.  My favorite spot, tomorrow, eleven.  Don’t be late,” was her last reply before Sophia had to put her phone away and head into the conference room.

She picked a seat far enough away where she could avoid Raphael’s gaze but still have a good vantage point.  Behind her, all of Paris was sprawled out below the boardroom, the Seine twinkling in the morning sun. On the other side of the room, the layouts for the associated photo shoot for this month were displayed out on a few easels.

Vincent wished her luck, of all things, before she left this morning.  He was doing a conference call of his own from home and for once in a great while, they’d spent the morning together.  Whiskey was more than happy for her to be home long enough to be held in Sophia’s arms, judging by the nuzzling and bunting she received.  Even though she had to get to the office early to finish up her articles, Vincent insisted she sit and eat. 

She didn’t miss the paper bag on the kitchen counter from her favorite bakery.  Eugene must have gotten it, she realized, and then wondered how early he had to get up to do so.  The sun was barely up when they’d gotten out of bed and ate and talked.

Well, she talked.  Vincent mostly listened.  For someone who spoke so much about himself, he was a surprisingly well-focused listener.  The pain from last night was still there, emotionally, in the slight line between his brows and the occasional moment where his eyes became unfocused as he layered a bit of jam onto a piece of bread.

Her chest still felt heavy, recognizing how much weight Paul’s loss still placed on him.  Would that be her, too? The scars of Kat’s death showing themselves inadvertently when she wasn’t able to keep up her facade any longer?  Sophia didn’t dare ask if she could help; she made her offer last night, and if he wanted it, he could take it. He probably had a therapist better suited to it.

He’d asked if she’d considered finding a designer yet and she’d looked at him as though he had seven heads.  From a small pile of mail, he produced an elaborate invitation; one of the museums in Paris was having a gala.  He said he usually went to the Met Gala as well but that he always made it a point to go support Parisian culture.  A public outing would do them the necessary press showing, they’d look the part of a happy couple and play along with the idea that he was, in fact, turning over a new leaf.  That he was taking his commitment seriously.

“You’ll need a couture gown, possibly two if we do go to New York.  I have invitations to the fashion shows in a few weeks; you can meet a number of people there if you see anything you like.”

She’d been to the fashion shows but always with her phone poised and recorder at the ready.  Never to just watch. She’d agreed, an idea forming in her mind on a possible connection for work.

Along with luck, he’d passed her a cup of coffee in her favorite plastic tumbler.  It was a cup with a drawing of Whiskey wearing a flower crown, with “I don’t give a sip” in cursive writing.  Silly, definitely, but Leo designed it for her way-back-when and it always made everything a little better. She’d shoved it to the back of the cabinet when she’d moved in.

And now, her chest constricted as she took another sip, cinnamon tingling her tongue.  She wasn’t sure how all of this really felt yet. It seemed ridiculous to be happy about spending time with him; once upon a time, she wanted nothing more than to turn heel and walk away from him.  She couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him; he never scared her but he never set her at ease, either.

Her late-night jail cell visit after finding Kat’s body removed that unease, as had their time together before and after their wedding.  Not necessarily happy but neither discontent. Limbo.

Now here she was, slightly thrilled at eating breakfast together.  It was the only thing keeping her from being pessimistic about this editorial meeting.

It couldn’t be that bad, she kept telling herself.  Louise was no longer working with the magazine, which actually helped the gatherings feel more collaborative and less like a whipping.  Her replacement, a woman Sophia only knew as Alice, was easier to talk to and get feedback from, far less thorny, and a little older. But still strict and critical where it mattered.  It was a better balance to Raphael’s methods, especially when he was not able to properly convey why he didn’t like a particular section. 

_ Speak of the Devil and he shall appear _ , Sophia thought as she took another sip of coffee, her eyes watching Raphael stride in.

He shut the door behind him and walked to the head of the table.  

“Good morning,” Raphael said.  “I hope to make this meeting as quick as possible.  I know some of you have weekend plans and want out of here as soon as possible.  The next few weeks will be busy so I hope everyone comes back Monday with a fresh perspective.  That said, let’s go around the table. Daphne, you have…”

“The list of ten best secret bars in Paris; I’m finishing up the last three locations.  I also have a proposal I’m working on for a multi-issue feature on vacation spots, appeal to those who like going away in the winter.”

_ July isn’t the month to showcase some of those places I overheard you talk about _ , Sophia thought, taking another sip of her coffee.

“Focus more on the unique aspects of each location, your article is exactly what our younger demographic is interested in.  Alice will pass along your proposal if it looks promising.”

Sophia stopped paying attention and spent most of the meeting coaching herself on what she’d say when it was her turn.  Not everyone did as in-depth articles as she did; she had, after all, built her portfolio on telling stories that were hard for many to hear.  She’d been working on a few close-to-home pieces with political echoes; her proposal for the summer had, back before her situation, been to focus on why so many chose France as their home.  

It was a question that she couldn’t answer anymore without her chest constricting.  It was one Kat had an immediate answer to without even looking up from her book and one that TJ responded to by putting the finishing touches on an outfit as he fixed models before they went out for a private show.  Paris was where everyone was unapologetically themselves. There was a legacy here that others sought to build upon, for themselves or for a greater purpose.

“Sophia?  What do you have?”  Raphael asked, bringing her back to the situation at hand.

She looked up to find him not even looking in her direction.  His blue eyes were glued to the notepad in front of him, pen poised, and a crease forming in his browline.

“I’ve finished my Why France? articles for the rest of the year and my smaller pieces on hidden swimming holes and summer treats are done as well.  I’m working on—”

“Re-write your latest interview.  All of them, actually. We strive to be neutral and the articles don’t sound objective enough.  Do you have anything lined up for fall and winter?”

“Fashion week in New York is in September.  London is right after and Paris is two weeks later.  I was actually hoping to do—”

“I believe we have other coverage of the fashion shows this year.”

“Can I finish my sentence, please, Raphael?” She asked, clipping her tone before she outright snapped at him.

He looked up at her for the first time that morning, slightly agog.  Louise was one of the only people she’d ever known to get away with calling him on his behavior.  And herself, on occasion. It was easier when they were together, when it was appropriate to speak out on such rudeness.  She’d only done it once at work when they were engaged but he’d never let her forget how stupid he made her look in front of the few people who overheard.

Here, the room suddenly fell dead silent, as if half of the room stopping  _ breathing _ .

She hadn’t even run this by Vincent yet.  Not that she needed permission but considering it was something that involved both of them, it felt wrong not to at least have his additional points to back up her pitch.

“Given my...circumstances, I’m in a unique position.  I was actually thinking of covering the process of getting a couture gown made.”

“Anything that involves your unique circumstances is off the table for pitching.  We’ll discuss this afterwards.”

He might as well have slapped her.  The searing, silent fury in his eyes said they were done and she looked away first, hurt and embarrassed.  Several sets of eyes were on her and looked between them, knowing full well she’d intended to bring up connections she wasn’t allowed to mention.

The woman next to her slid her notebook over slightly, her handwriting cramped but clear.  “Yeah but why not take advantage of that angle? What a moron.”

She smiled faintly and it was the nudge she needed not to cry then and there.  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not again.

* * *

 

The meeting finished in a haze and Sophia gripped her phone to keep herself from shaking.  She wasn’t sure if she was anger or hurt and decided both were acceptable in that moment.

“I’m one-hundred percent serious on your rewrites, Sophia,” Raphael said, finishing up his notes from the meeting.  “The bias is so thick you could make macarons with it.”

She resisted the urge to say how disgusting and laugh.  But laughing wouldn’t work. Laughing wouldn’t help anything.

“Can’t help but notice I seem to be the only person with extensive rewrites to do,” she said, creeping into unknown territory.

“Because everyone else is on the ball.”

“Because everyone else has flexible work habits?  Is allowed to have them?”

“We aren’t discussing this.”

“No.  Nothing is ever up for discussion with you,” she hissed.  “It’s not right that I’m busting my restricted ass only to be told to start from scratch.  You could stop making my marriage a point of contention and use it to your advantage, it wouldn’t  _ hurt _ .  My idea would appeal to the hardcore readers.”

“Your  _ idea _ has been done.  If you don’t have a proposal for me in two weeks, I’ll give you partnerships with other people who need the research help.”

_ Demoted to an assistant?!  Again?! _

“And give you assignments I want covered.”

Raphael placed his belows on the large table and rolled the pen between his fingers, the distance between them far larger than she initially thought it was.  Without the crowd of people, it looked like there was a soccer field between them. Sophia wished it would act as a buffer but somehow it only enforced the alienation she felt, isolating her further.

“I don’t care what you do in your time away from the office but it will not be used as content for your work.  Start a blog for that.” He stopped playing with the pen and looked back at her. “I’m sorry, but your articles need rewriting because they do not fit the tone of the magazine.  The content itself is fine. But this isn’t a newspaper or a biased political rag. Change them and give me a different proposal for the upcoming seasons.”

Sophia rose and gathered her things.  She let the boardroom door slam on her way out.  Her veins felt like fire for the rest of her day.

* * *

 

It was a bad idea.  She  _ knew  _ it was a bad idea but it felt like a good one.  The room almost seemed to wobble around her for a second before she gained her bearings again and began down the hall.  

Bearings.  Weren’t those the things in cars?  Something to do with steering? Ugh.  Whatever.

She took another large sip of her wine as she made her way down the hall and into the small library.  It was right below Vincent’s study. She’d taken this space over when she first moved in so she had her own place to work.  A dedicated workspace had been necessary. 

“So much for that,” she hissed, placing the wine bottle and the glass on the desk with a slight clatter.  

She was still furious from Raphael’s patronizing apology and all the distractions in the world couldn’t get rid of it.  Her damaged ego only fanned the flames of her fury over how belittled she felt. Alcohol was her first choice to take the edge off but she knew from the start it was a stupid idea.  She was a chatty drunk, sometimes giggly, before it dissolved into fury that gave way to tears. It was ugly and right now, she was somewhere between talkative and angry. Both, really, and the fire in her veins felt good.  

The downside to being in her thirties was that hangovers tended to, well, hang around longer than they used to.  

She would deal with that tomorrow.

The last time she’d gotten drunk was the night she’d chased down Marion.  She’d had too much vodka and her head was spinning for half of that party.  Come to think of it, she’d drank more because of Raphael and his ridiculous attempt to force her onto a date that night.  It’d worn off by the time she and Vincent arrived at Le Paradis, and probably helped induce her fainting spell.

_ That kiss was so good it sobered me right up.  In all the right ways. _

The time before that, she’d been with Alia.

Alia lured her over with an enticing bottle of wine to chat.  Knowing she’d be unable to resist the offer.

She  _ did  _ like good wine.  And thus her catharsis was thankful for Vincent’s extensive wine collection.

He wasn’t home yet.  It was late and yet she was here, alone.  Eugene left after finishing everything for dinner and cleaning up.  The valet gave her a concerned glance when she asked for a second bottle but said nothing.  Perhaps he, too, thought she was at least entitled to feel numb for a few hours.

She’d been a little hurt to eat alone.  If she couldn’t discuss this absolute bullshit with her own husband, then who could she turn to?  If he was always so true to his word and his actions, why wasn’t he  _ here _ with  _ her _ rather than whatever it was he needed to?

“So needy,” she muttered, chastising herself.  “Don’t be so selfish, it’s not like you married him for love.”

A small voice in the back of her head noted that it wasn’t fair to be angry at Vincent.  A very small voice. 

Anger felt  _ right _ .  After all, it was his last name she now bore.  And it was because of his relationship with her boss that  _ any  _ of this was happening.

Sophia glanced around at the space, illuminated only by a single lamp in the corner behind her.  The wooden desk was at the far end of the room and black, facing the door. It was large without being  imposing. She had space to spread out along the surface. The bookshelves in here were a little emptier, as Vincent had moved the remainder of his files into his office, but weren’t lacking in anything.  Except perhaps some less boring books. She should buy more books.

She picked up the glass again so she could peruse the shelves, finishing her glass by the time she was on the other end of the room, near the door.  The names on some of them were familiar but only in name, not content. The letters moved as she looked at them and she spent a few minutes saying some of the titles outloud.  French felt weird in her mouth. 

She moved on to the small gathering of framed pictures she kept near the door, so she could always look at them from the desk.  Her parents. Her and Kat. Whiskey. Her and TJ. Her, Louise, and Luc (Noor took that shot, she recalled). Photos of home, of places she hadn’t been in years.  Tristan’s concert. She was mistaken for his sister that night but when she’d been taken backstage, Tristan only scrutinized her face and then laughed.

“They see blue eyes and dark hair and assume we’re siblings?  That’s cute. Didn’t even listen to your stiff pronunciation to recognize you’re not a native Parisian,” was all he said about it as he led her and Kat to meet his band.

Vincent was right.  She was so isolated lately.  It was so much harder without Kat.  She was a bookworm but she was the social glue that kept Sophia from getting too stuck in work.  Like now. And she couldn’t rely on Vincent all the time. It wasn’t healthy.

Not to mention neither of them knew if they’d still be wearing rings in five years time.

She should try to just...go to bed.  She was alone, with a dog and a cat, and didn’t have much else to do tonight.

“Pathetic,” she muttered to herself, running her free hand through her hair.  “You’re so damn pathetic.”

“Who’s pathetic?”

She jumped slightly but didn’t turn right away, suddenly feeling far less steady than she did a moment ago.  Vincent stood in the doorway, jacket over one arm and Esteban nestled into the crook of his other. He glanced around the room and his eyes laid on the bottle on the desk longer than they should have.

“Me.  I’m pathetic.  I thought that was obvious,” she snapped, finishing the glass of wine as she walked over to the desk.

She placed the glass on the desk harder than was required but didn’t reach for the bottle.  No. No more. She’d eaten only enough to tide her over but not enough to absorb the alcohol and her stomach churned.  She pressed her palms into the surface of the desk, cold and hard, and just wanted to tell him to leave her alone. To let her sulk.  Let her have something that could at least be hers.

If she asked, he would.  The remnants of her sober conscious told her as much.

“Bad day?” He ventured.

She could feel his eyes on her back, watching her.  Waiting. But for what?

She didn’t turn to him.  She couldn’t. Hot tears welled up in her eyes and god dammit he wasn’t going to see her cry.  Which only frustrated her more. Her mind was too hazy and all she could do was feel.

Her attempt to numb herself only intensified everything instead.

“It was shit, Vincent,” she raised a hand and brushed away the tears with the heel of her palm harshly.  “And all I got was a fake apology and orders to rewrite two of my pieces before the deadline. Apparently their tone didn’t fit, according to Raphael.  In front of everyone. So now everyone knows what a fuck-up I am.”

She lifted her hands and gave sarcastic jazz hands before placing them back on the desk and bowing her head.  She sniffed, more hot tears falling into her hands.

_ Great, look like more of a pathetic idiot, crying over things you can’t control.   _

“You know that’s not true,” Vincent said, his voice closer now.

She heard Esteban’s nails on the hall floor, the pug hesitating before trotting away back into the living room.  She hadn’t seen Whiskey all evening but that was nothing new; the cat came and went as he pleased about the penthouse.  She wanted to bury her face in the soft fur and hold the cat close, listen to him purring softly, bump his head against hers again.  He was such a good snuggler.

“It  _ is _ true.  You weren’t there.  You wouldn’t know.”

“But I know you.”

His words were hot on her right ear, his breath tickling her skin.  She felt warm, large hands on her upper arms, holding her stiffly, tentatively.  As if she was a fragile piece of china, easily broken if not handled with care.

Distantly, that made her angry too.  But it was nice, for once, to be in someone’s arms.  To be touched when she was prickly and unpredictable.  

“And you’re not pathetic.  You’re very skilled at what you do.  I would be more surprised if you felt nothing about how you’re being treated.”

“It’s weird when you’re nice,” she blurted out, her brain too slow to realize she had said it aloud.  

She went to turn and the room spun around her, the floor suddenly a lot closer to her than it had been.  Her legs felt strange and the only thing keeping the floor from meeting her face were strong hands gripping her upper arms, the hold as awkward as it felt.

“You’re always doing that,” Sophia whispered as he pulled her back to her feet and began leading her out of the room.

“Doing what?”

“Catching me.  You know, I could fall every once in a while.  A bruise wouldn’t kill me.”

Vincent chuckled as they slowly made their way back to the open living room and the staircase.  “Would you rather a bloody nose or a concussion?”

“No.  Just saying it’s strange for my enemy to not want me hurt.  Or want to hurt me.”

“I already told you I don’t hate you.”

Esteban’s tag jingled as he trotted to meet up with them, seeing they were headed upstairs.  The pug led the way and Sophia followed, her movements slow and unsteady. It felt, no looked, like the stairs moved every time she looked to check her footing.  Her hand gripped the railing tight and she felt Vincent’s hand on the small of her back. He would catch her again, if needed.

“You admire me more than you hate me, right?  That’s what you said?”

“It is.”

They made it up the stairs without incident.  Esteban kept looking back at her and she thought she saw three of him.  Her head felt loose on her shoulders and a pain was beginning to grow behind her eyes.  Sulfates were the worst. They passed by Vincent’s study and Sophia turned, swaying slightly, her smirk so big it could have been mistaken for a smile.

“That’s not why you catch me, though.” 

She turned away and headed into the master bedroom.  She shed her clothes without a care as she went into the closet, pulling out her pajamas from the built-in drawers.  She pulled out an old tee shirt and a pair of shorts, feeling far hotter than she had at dinner despite the air conditioning.

“I think we stopped being enemies some time ago, Sophia.  Whatever...this...is, it’s not animosity.”

“Do you want to know what  _ I  _ think?”  Vincent was silent and she took it as a cue to continue.  “I think you’re scared. Scared of being alone. Scared of everything you’ve ever worked for going up in flames.  And you said it before: you’re tired. You’re tired of being Faust’s devil but you don’t know how to stop. How to change.”

Sophia pulled off her blouse and took her bra off with ease, not caring whether he saw her.  It didn’t matter anymore, not really, and she needed to continue her thoughts before she lost them, nudity be damned.  “You like the idea of a rival, an adversary. A challenger in your ever-constant game of chess. But I won and you don’t know what to do about it.”

She finished dressing for bed before walking over to him.  “You catch me,” she poked at his chest once before her fingers found his tie and played with it, “because you  _ need  _ me.  No matter what I am to you.  Pesky American, nosy journalist, bad actress, fiance, wife, whatever.  Because being with me is better than being alone.”

She looked up at him, the dim light making his eyes almost glow.  His face was impassive as he watched her. Sometimes he reminded her of Roman statues, as if someone had carved his features from cold marble and replaced his eyes with peridots.  He was certainly pale enough for it. She rested her hands against his chest and leaned into him, listening to his heart thump in his chest like a drum.

That’s what he was, wasn’t he?  A drum. Stuck in a state of tension that, when interfered with, could make a rich, deep sound.  Like a moan. Oh, she enjoyed hearing him moan. It always started deep in his chest and ran along his vocal cords like dewdrops over flower stems.  

She’d hear it another time.  

Vincent remained silent, only leading her to the bed, where she begrudgingly crawled under the covers.  He wasn’t leaving her much of a choice but to sleep off her bad decision. She couldn’t blame him for that.  She talked too much when the world spun around her and she couldn’t control her tears.

“You’ll live up to your name, if you keep this up,” he quipped, his smile stiff again before he, too, got ready for bed.

Why couldn’t he smile genuinely around her?  That was twice now and it was a like a knife twisting in her gut.  She felt tears rolling down her cheeks again as she settled down into the pillow, her earlier thoughts coming back.  She was pathetic. Why was she crying when she knew full well this wasn’t about emotion? It was business. Their entire arrangement was business and she had no reason to be so hurt over everything he didn’t want to talk about.

He didn’t have to discuss everything with her.  That was his right. And it was hers in turn. 

But it did.  It did hurt. He wasn’t here for dinner and he wasn’t here when she needed him to be.

For the first time in a long time, she’d needed someone to tell her it was going to be okay and help her with a solution.  But she’d come back to an empty penthouse, what she’d truly begun to think of as home, and been left to her own devices. She wouldn’t have cared if she hadn’t been so upset over her day.

The tears came stronger and she buried her face in her pillow, sobbing until her choked whines gave way to hiccups.  Her stomach hurt even more, twisted into agonizing knots from her heaving sobs. She sat up, steadying herself before reaching for tissues on her nightstand to blow her nose and wipe her eyes.

Her back was to the room but she felt the other side of the bed dip as Vincent, too, got into bed.  She flipped her pillow over to hide the tear-stained fabric and settled back down under the covers, facing him.  

Vincent straightened out the covers and fixed his pillows before he pulled the worn paperback from his nightstand and turned to his earmarked page.  She didn’t know where her phone was. She wanted it in her hand but maybe it was for the best it wasn’t. She didn’t trust her fingers, the fingers currently tracing the vein in his forearm like a trail on a map.

Her eyes felt heavy as she focused on the motions of her fingers, his skin below hers.  The feeling was soothing. He wasn’t marble at all. He wasn’t cold stone mimicking human flesh.  He was warm and steadier than she was, at least for the moment. Statues were cold. Statues didn’t press their hands into the dip in a person’s back only enough to let them know they were there.  That there was another there to help, if she’d only ask for it. 

Sometimes when she didn’t ask for it, too.

“You want to mean something to someone again,” she whispered, the words feeling jumbled in her mouth.  Her jaw didn’t want to work properly, tangled with alcohol and the clutches of exhaustion. “Because at least it keeps the pain at bay.”

She considered, vaguely, that last one wasn’t just about  _ him. _


	12. Chapter 12

“You  _ what _ ?” Louise gasped, sitting back in her chair slightly, her brown eyes wide.

The editor-turned-security-guru was dressed in her usual blouse and skirt, perfectly suited for the end of summer heat that seemed to be lingering in Paris.  They’d gotten a table inside, more so for the boy sitting next to Louise; inside at least offered a little more privacy and discretion. Sophia still saw one or two photographers with nothing better to do and she didn’t need her friends wrapped up in her nonsense anymore than they already could be.

Luc was reading a comic book quietly, occasionally snacking as they waited for their main course.  He had been happy to see Sophia, which she was thankful for. Louise being mad or upset with her was understandable but she never wanted to see such an expression on that boy’s face.  

It was nice to be ‘Auntie ‘Phia’ again, actually.  She hadn’t heard that in months. He’d had trouble with the sounds of her name when Louise first introduced him to her so they’d settled on something with simpler sounds.  

In another life, she wondered if she would have picked Louise, would have wanted something more with her.  Louise was beautiful, not to mention caustic at times, but she had to be; the boy next to her was everything and it wouldn’t do for her to be so willing to share her heart with anyone, romantically or otherwise.  She’d learned about life the hard way and in her opinion, everyone else had to as well.

Sophia gestured for her to keep her voice down.  “It was a poor decision, okay, that was the first time since that ridiculous party that I’d drank that much.  It was just…”

“Raphael can have that effect on people,” she agreed.  “But to let your guard down with  _ him _ , are you insane?”

“He let me ramble and helped me to bed,” Sophia shrugged, sipping her water.  “And I woke up to an empty house, with breakfast, painkillers, and coffee on the table.  Which probably wasn’t Vincent’s doing, but he probably told Eugene to make sure I would be alright.”

“Eugene?” 

“The, uh...butler?  Valet? Manservant? Whatever the proper term is.  He’s the only one I’ve ever  _ seen _ but I’m pretty sure there’s more than just him.”

Louise sighed softly.  “You could have picked me.  Regardless of resources and collateral damage.”

“You have Noor, too.  It would have been much worse, given who her father is.”

The younger woman was still studying in Massachusetts, having nailed her interviews at Harvard.  She couldn’t  _ not  _ go after all the trouble she’d gone through to make sure she would do well.  The distance was hard on Louise, she knew. They verbally sparred with each other and Sophia knew that it meant a lot to have someone who could not only understand Louise’s way of displaying affection but know that it meant she cared, that she was looking out for partner’s interests by being critical or harsh.  She liked a partner with a spine, she needed it. She needed someone willing to be strong for her when she was tired of doing it herself.

Their meals came and the topic shifted to what the office was like without its Iron Fist, what Raphael was like running a global company.  Sophia made a face as she looked down at her food, cutting the chicken with significantly more disinterest than when she’d first ordered it.  She knew this was going to come up, especially given what the woman knew about their mutual connection and the history shared. 

“Objectively, he’s no different than he used to be.  A little more level-headed, I suppose, now that he can work without the added stress of investigating forged paintings, among other things,” Sophia started, making sure to keep the darker parts of the past year away from Luc’s ears.  “Subjectively…”

“He’s as bitter as ever,” Louise finished.  “He was never good at compartmentalizing. He’s a workaholic for a reason.  If his work succeeds everything else will follow, but if you’re too focused on work, you leave no time for anything else.”

Louise’s eyes fell on Luc, who was eating with more enthusiasm than his mother or Sophia.  The boy gave his mother a big smile when he noticed she was looking at him before he resumed eating.  Sophia had the feeling the boy was used to these situations, where he wasn’t always part of the conversation, an unfortunate side-effect of not always having a babysitter available.

“I jilted him, Louise.  If I wasn’t ready, I shouldn’t have said yes.  And I went and got married in a hurry for the sake of circumventing politics to a man I know about as well as I know Raphael.  A man that Raphael helped to put in jail, a man he doesn’t like for a lot of reasons. I  _ get  _ why he would be upset, but—”

“But my point still stands,” the Parisian cut her off.  “If he was better at understand that everything has a time and a place, this wouldn’t be happening.  He would leave the personal out of the situation and let you work as you used to. If you went in aggressively, even if you were bluffing, he might back down.  You even said it yourself that Raphael could have been bluffing to get you to sign those papers. I personally don’t think he’s a very convincing liar, same as you, but you and I both know that if you went back at him with something just as serious, he’d concede.  He’s a pushover. But sometimes he needs to be told that some fights aren’t worth having.”

Sophia’s eyes were locked on her plate still and she had yet to move her fork to her mouth.  A part of her still felt like there was something she could do, something to make work more bearable.  There was a solution, there always was. She’d changed so much of her routine and professional habits only to end up with a noose of red tape around her neck.

Louis had a harsh, but true, point.  She knew him best, after all. 

“I have to say though, if you aren’t happy, you make a good show of it,” Louise murmured, taking a bite of her food.  “At least on social media. And in general. You dress better, and despite your hangover, you look more put together than I ever remember you being.”

Sophia took the cue from Louise and finally began eating herself, her appetite suddenly absent the longer they kept speaking.  But she needed to eat, that was the whole point of being here, in addition to catching up with a busy friend. 

“I kind of have to be,” she said.  She’d forgotten how good the food here was.  The flavors ensnared her senses and her appetite returned as it was reminded of why Louise loved this place.  The dishes were always so satisfying and yet left room for dessert and coffee. “I mean, I’m sure you…”

“I know.  Everyone knows,” the other woman scoffed, as if Sophia had just said something stupid.  “I only meant that you look better. Not content, per se, but you’re faring far better than with Raphael.  I don’t think you’ve had proper color in your face since your hiatus, since…”

Since Kat’s death was what Sophia knew she wanted to say but wasn’t willing to.  That unspoken topic that brought silence and a chill with it. She’d never get used to the knowledge that Kat’s body was still warm when she’d returned that night, that she’d only just missed Marion and had been too late.

“Expectations were established and set pretty low, truthfully,” Sophia scooped up another mouthful and swallowed before speaking again.  “Got that out of the way early. I only have to survive five years, get my citizenship, and we decide later. And that’s long enough to convince the board members and investors that he’s not who he used to be.”

“He would just have to keep up the facade without you.”

Sophia shrugged again.  “If we decided that was for the best.”

“ _ If _ ?”  Louise’s fork stopped a millimeter away from her lips.  “What do you mean,  _ if _ ?”

Sophia glanced around, the place mostly empty.  But she knew waitstaff were good spies when they were paid well enough; she’d used them herself as sources.  She dropped her voice before explaining, keeping just far enough from Louise that it wouldn’t look like she was doing anything other than speaking.

“I’ll be thirty-five by then, Vincent forty-six.  It’s a long time to have a life with someone. Do I want to be forever known as Vincent Karm’s ex-wife?  He doesn’t expect much except for me to not call attention to either of us, to do public appearances and pretend for a few hours we’re a happy, normal couple.  No children, no traditional roles of being a wife, and never once does he think he owns me.”

She left out the part where she’d willingly suggested they share a bed, where she’d crawled into his arms, about their arrangement with sex.  How she actually enjoyed the dinners they went on, how every time she leaned into his touch. She just wanted human touch and he willingly gave it to her.  It didn’t mean either of them truly cared about one another, not really.

An understanding came over the other woman’s face and Sophia saw a flicker of concern disappear.

“Well, at least he understands that not everything that bears his name is his,” she said, softer than Sophia expected.  

Right.  Luc’s dad.  Of course.

“It’s a means to an end.  For both of us. It’s just not as intolerable as I expected it to be.”  She took another bite before turning her attention pointedly at the boy scraping his plate.   “Now, what’s this project for school about, Luc?”

Sophia listened intently as Luc explained his class project, happy to have a distraction from the previous topic.  She’d been ready to defend him as if she had something to prove to anyone who dared ask. Not to mention anything related to Vincent brought back glimpses of the previous night, of what she’d said.  And she didn’t want to think about that now. Think about how his company kept her own pain from engulfing her again. 

The idea that she was beginning to be attached more than she’d wanted scared her far more than she ever thought it could.

* * *

 

The weekend went quicker than she wanted it to.  The rest of Saturday was spent with Louise and Luc, helping the boy gather supplies for his project idea and starting it with him.  He’d looked so excited to try the idea they came up with at lunch that Sophia had a hard time saying no.

She needed this too, she reminded herself.  Needed other people, other things.

Sunday was quiet, and she spent breakfast telling Vincent about Luc’s project.  She’d expected him to simply nod and feign interest—after all, what did he care for someone’s kid he never met—but instead, he’d offered a design suggestion and even drew a quick diagram.  She said nothing and swallowed her heart when it leapt into her throat at the notion that he would even care enough to think about it.

Both of them spent the day together, as they tried to every few days.  She got her measurements done for dresses, glanced at a few designers’ studios, and walked the city, looking every part a normal couple.  She had no opinion on specific dresses, her mind stuck on Louise’s words from yesterday, but she took notes and began to understand the parts of fashion TJ never showed her.  The courting of a client, the descriptions, the ideas. She would see more of their work in a few weeks’ time but it would be better if she narrowed down who she wanted.

They returned home later to find Eugene darting around the kitchen, focused on his task.  The table was already laid out and she and Vincent were told dinner would be out shortly. Sophia settled at the table first, a salad in front of her chair when she returned from washing up.

The closer the evening came to a close, the more annoyed she was at Monday approaching.  At having to deal with everything all over again.

Sophia stabbed the salad with more force than she meant to, the metal hitting the porcelain beneath the leaves.  She chewed and swallowed without even tasting much beyond the greens, and then took another, quieter, stab for another bite.

“What did the lettuce ever do to you?” Eugene quipped as he set out additional dishes for the main meal.

Vincent insisted she start without him; he was on the phone when they’d arrived home.  He’d gone right upstairs without further preamble and left her and Eugene in the open living space.  

“I’m pretending it’s someone’s face, Eugene.”

The red-headed man gave a hesitant glance at her as he made a sound of understanding.  He stepped away from the table after a pause, as though he was her next target. She could hear Vincent arguing from the stairwell, clipped tone cold and harsh, before the call was abruptly ended.  

Vincent took the seat across from her, facing the room, the same arrangement as when they planned the wedding.  It was unspoken assigned seating. He rolled his sleeves up carefully, his suit jacket abandoned, likely already hanging up neatly on the door to be dry cleaned.  She glanced up to find his hair slightly disheveled. She returned her eyes to her dish, focusing on the texture of the lettuce, the flavor of the dressing. One tiny tomato was eluding her and she wanted it.

Vincent watched her, hands deftly placing his napkin in his lap, as she finally stabbed the tiny tomato and placed it in her mouth, relishing how the skin broke between her teeth.  There was just something so  _ satisfying  _ about eating grape tomatoes, how solid and juicy they could be at the same time.  

Sophia looked up to find his gaze on her and blinked.  “What?”

Their gaze was only broken by Eugene’s arms laying out the rest of the meal before disappearing.

“You’ve been quiet today, that’s all.”

“Dreading tomorrow,” she said, finishing the salad with less violence.  “I’ve just been...thinking, that’s all. I’m kind of losing the reason I even wanted to be a journalist or writer.”

“You’re the only reason that magazine still exists,” Vincent said after a forkful of salad and a taste of the very rare—Sophia mentally winced at the red, barely cooked meat—steak.  “Your story on everything that happened with the Essence is the reason readership skyrocketed.”

“How do you even…?”  Sophia cut her own steak, far less rare with just a hint of pink, pausing in her actions when she realized very few had that kind of knowledge outside of the magazine.

Vincent raised an eyebrow at her, daring her to finish her sentence as he popped another piece of steak into his mouth.

“Right, right, nothing happens in this city without your knowledge and the magazine is a competitor.  Of course you’d know,” she said it almost teasingly but it was no less true.

“Raphael was not only desperate to find the Essence because of what he believed it could do but because he needed something  _ new  _ to increase sales.  A new angle, a new writer.  It was a goal that took a backseat in the end but it drove him to initially seek out the hype of a long-lost letter from one of the world’s most renowned couples.”

Sophia sat back in her chair, her dinner forgotten for the time being.

“It was with the momentum you created that he was able to do so well and gain several markets.  I had a hand in it as well, technically; that edition had the highest sales.”

His earlier waspishness from the phone call was nowhere to be found as she looked at the man in front of her, slightly aghast.

“I thought you left your ego in that jail cell.  So much for hope.”

“The only thing I left there was my zebra rug, sadly.”

He looked slightly downcast, an expression she’d seen only a handful of times when she’d actually bored him.

“What a shame,” her sarcastic tone implied it was anything but.  She remembered that ugly zebra skin rug in his jail cell. Tacky.  So, so tacky.

_ You married a man who oozes tacky, or did you forget that between the sex and the shiny ring and the month away from Paris? _

If she had wounded him, he hid it well, only looking at her over the rim of his wine glass.  Perhaps wine was a bad idea, she was already caustic as it was. Sophia nudged the glass away from her slightly, as if warning herself.  

“My point was you could easily remind him of that though I doubt it would help matters,” he finished.

Something clicked in Sophia’s head.  But it  _ could _ .

“That lawyer you brought with you, what was his name?”

“Morean.  Julian Morean, I keep him on retainer.  Why?”

“I...have some things I’d like to discuss with him.  Legalese stuff. And I should follow up on my application and figure out my test date.”

“Why do you bother lying, Sophia?” He asked, watching her as he finished another piece of steak.

“What do you…?”

“You are the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

She wasn’t entirely sure whether to be affronted or flattered.  She knew most people humored her white lies, especially at work, but no one called her on it before.  To be fair, it was a weak attempt of an answer but most people left it alone. Not Vincent. He’d called her on her bullshit from day one, even if he sometimes took the bait.  She should know better than to even try.

_ I deserve that, _ Sophia thought.   _ I should take it if I can dish it... _

“I saw your eyes light up the second you got a notion into your head,” he amended.

There was a glimmer of something dark in his eyes, something she saw so long ago.  She couldn’t hide from him, even if she tried. She never could.   She leaned forward and began eating again, outlining her idea between bites.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the shortest chapter for this story but I wanted to solely focus on Vincent for a chapter. The next update will be longer, I promise :)

Vincent stood from his desk when Julian Morean walked in, the younger man’s back straight and body overall stiff.  He was competent but never more than friendly; the CEO was certain no one in his company, nor any of the directors he now answered to, knew Morean all that well.  In his line of work, it was all about who knew who, but his reputation spoke for itself; Julian Morean relied purely on his work ethic and how he handled cases and problems.  Those who hired him did the rest.

He’d defended Vincent during his trial and acquittal and kept the company together in his absence.  For that, the older man was eternally grateful, or as grateful as someone like him could be.

“What did you want to discuss, sir?”  the lawyer asked, stepping further into the office.  

Vincent turned his back on the other man and looked out across Paris, watching the light dance over the Seine.  If he looked hard enough, he could see the City of Love office, in the distance, only just within view. Sophia was working, struggling to focus, and by now, probably having an afternoon cup of coffee in one of the silent work rooms.  He wondered if she remembered to eat something other than her lunch, recalling that her clothes fit her a little differently since their return to Paris. She was thinner, only noticeable up close, in the way her pants hung from her hips or how her curves fit into his hands when she initiated their dalliances.  Since their discussion the previous week, she was better about remembering to eat, and that was all he would ask for.

Part of him missed the early days of their arrangement, when she was writing, asking for his thoughts on a sentence or an angle, curled up in the corner of the couch.  He enjoyed coming into the living room and seeing her there, as if it was the most natural place to find her.

He tore his gaze away from the corner of the building he knew so well to focus them elsewhere.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Julian.  I have a...predicament. Or rather, Sophia does,” Vincent said, placing his hands behind his back.  “I take it you have no problem being as discreet with her as you would with me?”

“None, although if it’s about her citizenship, I don’t have any updates.”

Vincent shook his head before turning to face the other man.  “It’s not. She’s having difficulties with her employer over our…arrangement.  She signed an NDA, which bars her from discussing work or even taking it home with her while her coworkers are allowed to work from home.  She needs the employment for her application, oui?”

“Yes, she needs a continuous record of her employment. It helps speed things along.  Might get her on the two-year waiting list.”

Vincent hummed in thought and Julian stepped closer before he took a seat at one of the plush chairs in front of Vincent’s desk.  “Whether it’s two years or five doesn’t much matter, the prenuptial supersedes it and makes it five years. Something for you and I discuss at a later date, perhaps, if things change.”

The silence grew tense and he thought Julian would say something on that topic but he didn’t. Instead he continued as though Vincent hadn’t spoken.

“Her situation sounds like entrapment.  Or almost. She couldn’t have said no?”

“She would have lost her job in the process.”

“Entrapment, then.  Discrimination is...well, technical, but she’s being singled out simply because she married you?”

“Her employer and I have...history. And they were engaged. She can give you more details as you need them.”

“Harassment, then.  Minor, should be easy to put together a lawsuit.”

Vincent stepped away from the window and went back to his desk. He continued to stand rather than sit, both because he didn’t want to put himself equal to the lawyer and because he’d been sitting too much for his liking today. His legs were fidgety. Maybe he’d take a walk this afternoon while Sophia was meeting with Julian.

In passing, he wondered if that bakery she frequented had any of those macarons she liked and then stopped that thought before it could take proper shape. Did he just want her to have a box to bring back to the office with her (for the sake of Raphael’s wrathful jealousy of knowing who doted on her), or did he want to do it to make her smile?

_Both,_ he realized, his gut twisting.   _She glows when she smiles._

Had she been right?  About not wanting to be alone?  About wanting to mean something to someone again?

He didn’t know why he’d helped her the other night, only that it had been almost second nature.

That wasn’t a train of thought to get into now. Not while he had someone right in front of him.

Vincent straightened his tie and brought himself back to the present, ignoring how his gut lurched at the thought of focusing on other things.  “Discuss it with her, I’m only facilitating the arrangement.”

“Understood, sir.  She’s coming at three o’clock?”

“Yes, she’s...eager, to put it lightly.  Any additional expenses, just add it to my monthly tab,” Vincent’s tone was final and the lawyer didn’t need a second cue.  

Julian rose from the chair, just when he’d gotten comfortable, and shook Vincent’s outstretched hand. When he was gone, Vincent turned back to the window, focusing instead on his translucent reflection in the glass.

_What is_ wrong _with you?  It’s not as if you actually_ care _about her, not really. Not beyond what she can provide now._

She had been right about one thing; her company kept his pain at bay.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this light.


	14. Chapter 14

Sophia walked through the revolving door and stepped into the atrium of Karm International.  The company she always heard about but never saw. The ceiling soared high above her head, where she could see balconies and walkways, everything glass and sleek and modern.  

It wouldn’t surprise her if Vincent had the building built from scratch.

Behind the security desk was a familiar logo, the one she first saw printed on banners at TJ’s fashion show, white on black.  Actually, most of the decor in the atrium was black and silver and white, the occasional strip of green floating about. She half-expected more antique or classical designs, given his personal tastes, but she heard Raphael talk enough about branding to understand why Vincent chose to present his company in clean lines and neutral colors.

It was quiet here, for a Monday, but perhaps things were a little different outside of magazine publishing.  She’d locked herself away in one of the lounges in order to make her changes and dropped her new drafts on Alice’s desk before leaving, feeling far better than she had Friday.  She had a plan. Of a sort.

Eugene had mentioned she was expected; was signing in with the front desk even necessary?  Surely they knew what she looked like, that the CEO was her husband? She hesitated for only a moment before heading towards the elevator bank, as though she hadn’t seen the front desk at all.

“Couriers and any kind of journalists around the back, no service entry for the metro, you must go around,” a security officer said, patient despite saying it probably twenty times a day.

Sophia bit her lip and stopped, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“Ah, I’m not a courier, or a journalist.  Well, I _am_ a journalist, but I don’t write for gossip magazines.”

“Right, so, around the back.  Press entrance.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes, her patience all but gone by now after spending most of her day restructuring her sentences.  She sighed softly and walked over to the desk, putting on a smile and reminding herself that she represented Vincent as much as herself.  She couldn’t overstep or be perceived as rude without it touching him.

“I’m here to see Julian Morean,” she said sweetly, her pronunciation perfect.  “I have an appointment.”

That seemed to work and put the guard back in familiar territory.  Vincent said to use her name to her advantage. So she would.

“Name?”

“Sophia,” she said, digging through her purse to pull out her new passport and identity cards.

“Last name?”

“Karm.”

The guard looked up at her, color leaving his face at the mention of his employer.  He looked at her passport and nodded, as if trying to get his brain functional again.

“Apologies, _madame_.  Give me one moment to add you to our guest list to avoid future problems.”

She looked straight as he raised a small web camera to take a photo of her before he entered other information. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of red hair and turned to find Eugene just past the elevator bank, waiting for her.  She shrugged slightly when he tilted his head and then she gave her attention back to the guard. He handed her a guest pass and apologized again, avoiding Eugene’s eyes the entire time. She thanked him and walked away, mouthing ‘don’t’ to the valet as she crossed the atrium.

“You _were_ on the list, it was the second thing Vincent did when you arrived back in France,” Eugene muttered, leading her to an elevator that only took a keycard to open.  “And any records he added himself can only be overridden by order of the board.”

She sighed and leaned back against the glass wall, the elevator doors sliding shut silently.

“I suppose someone wants to pretend our facade didn’t happen,” Sophia fingered the keycard as they ascended. “But don’t let him get in trouble for it, I was the one being cocky by not checking in first.”

“If you’re on that list, the camera at the door recognizes you, pulls up your file and does their work for them.  Whatever your arrangement is, you’re still the wife of a successful and famous corporate leader, aside from your own accomplishments.  You are entitled to a particular level of respect,” Eugene pulled down on his jacket sleeves and brushed away trace amounts of dust. “It’s worth looking into, there’s more than a few people who aren’t thrilled Vincent found a way to stay in leadership and veto their decisions.”

She wished to emphasize the importance of making sure the guard wasn’t punished for the mistake but the doors opened before she could get another word in.  

_That was_ quick, Sophia thought.  

They stepped out of the elevator and walked down a corridor to a reception desk, the space just as cold as the atrium of the building.  She wondered if Vincent’s corporate office, the one she never saw, was just as uninviting in its colors and materials. The juxtaposition of glass and metal with dark wood did the entryway no favors, even if the chairs were plush and the flowers on the coffee table fresh.  It felt clinical, and she wondered if it did any favors to associating Moaren with confidentiality and trust, as it sometimes did with doctors.

“Do you want anything to drink or eat during your meeting?” The valet asked.

Eugene had taken to asking when it became evident she tended to forget herself in lieu of her work. Whether because he was asked to keep an eye on her or asked out of genuine concern for wellbeing, she didn’t know.  She and Vincent had dinner reservations when she officially got out of work later, she remembered, so eating wasn’t prudent at the moment.

“Just water, I think, please” Sophia replied.

Eugene relied her request to the receptionist and left her, saying she was free to visit Vincent’s office whenever she was finished.  Sophia watched the valet disappear behind the elevator doors and turned her attention back to the receptionist. She shifted her bag on her shoulder and smiled at the other woman, but the expression she got in return was stiff and polite.

She was led down the corridor and shown into a small office.  The door shut behind the other woman and Sophia was left to stare around the foreign space.  

The desk was prominent, solid and sturdy, something she would have expected a lawyer to have.  Dark wood, so dark it almost passed for black. Unlike Vincent’s office, the desk was not off to the side but rather the focal point, two matching white armchairs on the guest side.  Bookshelves the same color of the desk lined the room, books written in multiple languages housed tightly packed together. Degrees were framed and hung on either side of the desk, framing the tinted floor to ceiling windows.  A space between the bookshelves left room for an electric fireplace.

Personal touches danced around the space in the form of a painting, hanging above the mantle and an antique vase tucked into a corner near the door.  

It was small, perhaps smaller than the office she first met Vincent in, but it was, in fact, warmer than she expected.  Or it tried to be. The dark wood and fireplace were cozier than the reception area, but the space was devoid of anything that was too personal.  No trophies, no stunning paintings or sculptures. Everything had a place and everything matched.

The door opened and she turned to find Morean walking through, briefcase over his shoulder, slightly out of breath.

“Please, make yourself at home, _Madame_.  I was hoping to be here when you arrived but my previous appointment ran over,” he gestured to the chairs before rounding the desk and settling in.

His words were friendly enough.  She could never forget how cold his gaze was, and even now, it still unsettled her.  Vincent never scared her, not once during their entire game of cat and mouse, but she knew what she was dealing with.  His ego was on his sleeve most of the time and he was easier to read at times than he wanted to admit.

But so was she.

The receptionist from earlier came in with two glasses of water and a cappuccino that would have made Marion envious, slipping in and out of the space quietly.  Sophia wished she caught her name so she could thank her properly.

“I met with Vincent earlier, he gave me a short overview of the situation,” Morean glanced up at her as he signed onto his laptop.  “But I want your version.”

Sophia nodded, already having worked out her narrative on her ride into work that morning.  She recounted briefly her arrival in Paris, her relationship with Raphael and the failed engagement.  How contentious things were for months and proceeded to get worse ever since her engagement and subsequent marriage.  She handed over copies of the emails she received, a copy of the NDA, papers from HR she received on work policies, and a list of duties she was unable to perform.

“I called him first before I called Vincent when I was in jail.  He didn’t help me and knows I’m in a precarious position; he was the one who pushed to have a foreign journalist in the first place two years ago and handled my visa processing.  I’m being held to different standards, ones no one else is expected to comply with. Berated in front of the writing staff and demoralized. And I know if I go to HR, they’ll simply sweep it under the rug as an office affair gone wrong and not bother with it.”

“I thought the NDA would be entrapment, but there’s nothing illegal about the document,” Morean said, taking a sip of his espresso before continuing.  “It’s restricting and breaks internal policy, but not illegal in and of itself. It’s coercion or duress, certainly, given the context of an ultimatum.  You have every right to rescind it; you signed it under conditions in which your consent was taken away because there was no reasonable alternative. You can also sue for emotional and mental distress, possibly harassment.”

“Possibly?”  Sophia bit her cheek, unable to keep the doubt from seeping into her voice.  She didn’t want a possibility, she wanted certainty. If she wasn’t able to at least draw up something legal, her threat wouldn’t hold and Raphael would see right through it.

“I would need to interview some coworkers, HR representatives, to build that case.  But you’re not really doing this for money, are you?”

He looked at her over the rim of his cup, feeling an icy dagger stab her in the chest as he did so.

“No,” she said finally.

“Has he hurt you or harassed you in any other manner?”

Sophia heard the implicit question, one on many lips in recent months.  Was she another woman who suffered at the hands of someone unable to see the boundaries of the workplace?  The trend in France was similar to that of the one back home, where the accused was left untouched and the victims reprimanded or fired.  Even _City of Love_ had a hard time not writing about the movement, especially given its prominent position of a global magazine heavily tied to culture and history, small trendy pieces aside.

“As much as he frustrates and infuriates me, he isn’t that kind of person,” Sophia said, keeping her eyes locked on the lawyers.  “He hasn’t done anything within that nature.”

An expectant silence fell across the room.

“You’re doing this to only send a message then.”

_He must think me as underhanded as Vincent at this point_.  

“One Raphael Laurent received before.  One I don’t intend to follow through on as long as he keeps his remarks to himself and takes back the NDA.”

As she had with Vincent, she outlined her idea with the lawyer.  She emphasized that she didn’t _want_ to ever actually carry out the threat, just make the situation dire enough for him to realize she _could_ do it.  Her words failed her at times, her thoughts trailing off into murmurs, silence taking her words and choking them.

She was able to explain it perfectly the night before.  So why was it failing her now?

“This is playing with fire, if any of this gets out.”

“I’m not backing down,” Sophia insisted.  “We both know this meeting wouldn’t be happening if no one thought it would stay quiet.  If Raphael goes and publishes something himself, he would have to admit to treating me unfairly.  Politics would weave their way through the narrative. If I do nothing, I’m stuck being held to higher standards despite not being given the tools to meet them.”

“Only this doesn’t impact just you.”

“I’m aware.  Vincent set up this meeting.  Surely you have some trust in your employer.”

Sophia felt her blood run cold as Morean glared at her again, something deeper than mere annoyance flashing in his eyes.  She’d met so many people that set her on edge, made a weird sensation run up and down her spine, made her clench her jaw or bite her cheek.  Made her feel no remorse or pity as she exposed their actions and crimes. But this…

He was a stranger and he _hated_ her.  Tolerated her, of course, but there was no disguising the disdain and hatred there, smoldering.  Held for a long time.

“I’m afraid myself and the company have already seen the consequences of trusting Vincent Karm when you’re involved.”

Perhaps she should have looked around for a different attorney rather than use Vincent’s.  She just wanted an easy way out. To take time looking for a lawyer would start rumors that neither of them needed.  And here, at least, people knew Morean as Vincent’s lawyer; it would appear as if she was discussing something personal.

“Then don’t trust him,” Sophia shrugged.  “Trust me. I’m the one who put Vincent in jail, the one who stopped the city floods and prevented the murder of our current mayor.  Your entire profession is based on trust. So is mine.”

She sounded a lot more confident than she felt and shrugged casually, as if they were discussing the weather.  

If she didn’t get him, she _could_ get another lawyer.  Optics were better if she kept Morean, and there was a larger guarantee that this wouldn’t circulate by employing him.

He stared at her a for a long moment and it took everything in her not to shrink under his gaze.  The lawyer muttered something under his breath and turned back to his laptop.

“Vincent asked me to be discreet but there’s only so much I can do when only half of it is under my control.  I’ll have a draft made up by the end of the day, and hopefully by Friday have everything I need to create an argument,” he finally said.  “I will, of course, have to go through the legal department, so it won’t be a complete surprise. You’ll know when we get a meeting as soon as I do.”

Morean’s tone was dismissive and Sophia packed up whatever things he didn’t need to keep.  She thanked him for his time and left, closing the office door behind her.

* * *

 

Sophia clutched her phone as she waited for the elevator, unable to shake the chill running through her body that wasn’t from the air conditioning.  She didn’t know if she could trust Julian Morean, only that she had to, and his words about trusting Vincent ran on a loop in her head. Vincent trusted him.  So why even say something like that to her? Did the lawyer think she was self-absorbed, only concerned with her own benefit?

_All he knows is that you begrudgingly married his boss for citizenship after arresting him.  It’s not like he has any other image of you…_

She checked her phone and found no new messages from the past hour.  She had to return to the office but to not visit Vincent was rude and out of place.  She craved something familiar, something warm and certain, a constant. She had so very few of those anymore.  

The doors opened and she looked up from her phone to find Vincent standing in the elevator, just about to step out.  He recovered from his surprise quickly and stepped aside to make room for her.

“Lovely, I was hoping he wouldn’t keep you much longer,” Vincent said.  “Everything went well?”

Their movements were natural by now, a kiss appearing fluid and normal, leaning into the touch to demonstrate comfort.  It would make the scene believable to the receptionist, if she was paying attention.

His sunglasses were in his breast pocket and she could see a few beads of sweat in his hairline.  

Strange.  Perhaps he’d gone for a walk, she mused.

The elevator doors shut, leaving them alone.  He pressed the lobby floor and they began the descent towards the ground.

Part of her wanted to bring up Morean’s words but she couldn’t bring herself to.  The man served Vincent probably as long as he’d been out of law school and Vincent seemed to trust him as much as he trusted Eugene.  Perhaps he was only territorial, wary of someone taking advantage of a system they didn’t understand. He was, after all, meant to find inconsistencies and twist things around in his client’s favor.  It rubbed her the wrong way but it didn’t need to be brought to Vincent’s attention just yet.

And this wasn’t the place for such a discussion, either.

“As well as it could, I suppose.  We’ll have to wait and see,” Sophia smiled softly, keeping her words as neutral as possible.  “I won’t be able to stay, I’ll probably just make it back in time.”

“We’ll discuss it over dinner, then.”

It was then she realized his hands were full.  One hand held out a small pink box by its strings.  The other offered a small to-go cup, the scent of cinnamon gently filling the air.  “I thought perhaps you might want something sweet, you haven’t had time to enjoy them recently.”

Sophia felt her cheeks flush.  

_He didn’t just go for a walk, he went to get…_

She peeked into the box and saw four macarons, all of them her favorites.  

“They didn’t have many left,” he said.  “And I wanted to be back in time to catch you.  The coffee is decaf. I thought you might prefer less caffeine.”

She glanced up at him to see the tips of his ears turn pink as he straightened his tie, attempting to look nonchalant.  She was taken slightly aback by the gesture, just as she had been with the bracelet and their time together abroad. Sophia felt a strange sensation in her chest as she thought about how he’d not only considered but also learned her favorite sweets.  It was a nice surprise in the middle of a very frustrating day.

“Thank you, they’re the perfect pick-me-up,” Sophia smiled, cradling the box carefully.  

The elevator doors opened and they stepped back out into the public space.  Sophia turned and kissed Vincent on the cheek, standing on her toes to do so.  He stiffened and cleared his throat, not used to such a gesture from her. When she stepped away, the look across his face was soft, perhaps even thankful that she was playing along so well.

He reached out and fixed a stray piece of hair before leaning down to kiss her gently.  The kind of kiss she didn’t think someone like him was capable of, one that left her unfocused for a second.  When they broke away, she blinked a few times, not having expected any kind of gesture in front of passing visitors and staff members.

They parted after someone called for Vincent’s attention before approaching.  Sophia thanked him again and managed the revolving door with ease, not wanting to risk being late herself.  

The coffee tasted amazing and she smiled as she thought of how sweet the macarons would be once she got back to her desk.  

The lies were so good sometimes she almost believed them herself.

* * *

 

The heat of summer lingered into September, two weeks after she first met with Morean.  He’d emailed her once the week prior to say he had everything he needed and only had to set up an appointment for the following week.  

For today, to be precise.

Sophia was sick of appointments.  It seemed everything came down to those lately.

She still needed to pick a designer for her dress or dresses but could think of nothing less appealing than staring at shapes and colors that didn’t appeal to her.  Nothing any of the designers they met with were showing her anything she wanted to wear. With every visit, she could see Vincent’s patience wearing thin for her procrastination.  She had until fashion week to pick someone, he said, but having an ‘in’ now meant securing a spot in someone’s busy schedule.

She’d covered enough fashion shows and talked to enough people at various events to understand the importance of _scheduling_.  But she wasn’t going to snap at him when she knew she was at fault.  She had a role and she needed to play it.

As she dug through her desk one morning for a pad of sticky notes, she mentally reminded herself to follow up on a few of those designers to at least maintain the relationship somehow, even if it wasn’t with a dress.  She liked a few of their other ideas, just not what they had in mind for evening wear.

Sophia pulled out a set of yellow and orange sticky notes from the back of her desk drawer.  She paused when she took a last look at the drawer to find a piece of thick paper, folded over once.  

“I thought I lost this,” she whispered.

Carefully, she pulled out the piece of paper and unfolded it.  The figure had longer hair than she did, a serene smile crossing her lips as she posed.  A gold bodice of a dress was the only color on the paper, all the artist had time for. Black ribbons trailed from the waistline, the mermaid skirt fading into nothing.  Sophia’s hands shook as she stared at it, remembering the night she and TJ snuck into the _City of Love_ offices to publish her article on Vincent’s takeover and the attempt to drug Paris.  The few days leading up to that were hectic and set her on edge, trying to write as Raphael kept trying to break out of his apartment to find her.

She smiled softly.  She missed that time, just a little.  Before history and work got the better of everyone.  Before someone died.

TJ was probably one of the only other people who took Kat’s death hard.  She didn’t know much about what transpired between them other than what the designer told her briefly, but he was one of the last people to have seen her as herself.  Part of her still wanted the answers on what Kat was truly like in her absence, if she hated Sophia as much as Alia and Louise made it seem like she had. But that meant digging through pain for TJ and she could never bring herself to ask that of him.  

She took a picture and sent it to TJ, along with a text asking how everything was.  As she gazed at the drawing again, she found her eyes drawn to the gold and the black, the contrast between the shiny bodice and the black ribbons, light and dark.  It was eye-catching without being overly dramatic, which was what a lot of the other prototypes she saw were doing. Sophia bit her lip as she sent a photo to Vincent and said that she had an idea when it came to her dress but she might need until fashion week to discuss details.  

She didn’t mention that the drawing was TJ’s; she wouldn’t need to.  Vincent would know his style in a second. The younger man was still working in Milan, as far as she knew, but he would definitely be back for Paris Fashion Week.  He couldn’t afford to miss it.

“Sophia,” Raphael’s voice cut across the office and drew her out of her reverie.  “Conference room. Five minutes.”

The auburn-haired man walked away without a glance back and she looked down to find Vincent had ‘liked’ the photo she sent.  So working with TJ was a possibility. Slim, perhaps, but a possibility nonetheless.

Her last confrontation with Raphael was impulsive, instinctual.  Incredibly emotional. This...this would be different. She had a plan of attack this time that didn’t involve palms to cheeks and burning tears.  The fury she felt when she discovered Kat’s body, when she heard about the Knights of Lutetia, when Marion revealed herself properly, ran through her veins.  It was tempered only by her own willpower, by reminding herself that emotions didn’t have a place in the discussion.

Regardless, she knew the NDA was as good as gone.  It was just a matter of terms.

She placed the drawing back into the drawer and locked it.  Sophia rose, grabbed her phone, a folder and notepad, and then made her way to the conference room, anger low in her stomach.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand cliffhanger. ;)
> 
> If anyone thinks the first scene is familiar, it was inspired by that scene in the recent Tomb Raider movie (which I never finished and don't intend to). Thank you for your patience with this story (all of my stories, really) and for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dubious legal and ethical discussions; Sophia hits below the belt in order to get her point across. The next chapter will be solely focused on Vincent and Sophia and hopefully be worthy of the rating of the story. Enjoy!

The conference room felt as large as an airport terminal without the rest of the writing team to fill the seats. Morean seated himself at the end furthest from the door, which meant walking the length of the vast space in relative silence. Across from her lawyer was someone from legal, or so she assumed, and the soft discussion ceased the second Raphael and her walked into the room.

She wondered if, had she not slapped him all those months ago, this would even be happening.  

Raphael’s sudden drop-in on their honeymoon was rude, disrespectful, she knew that.  Had Sophia held her tongue, held her hand back, perhaps she would have gotten a little extra work, simply been ignored rather than singled out.

_I couldn’t stand there and let him berate Vincent as if I hadn’t said yes.  Besides, I’d waited two years to do that. Someone had to…_

She forced herself to sit straight as Raphael took the seat across from her, next to the corporate attorney, looking every bit as annoyed as he sounded a few minutes earlier.  He likely saw it as a waste of time. She recalled a conversation when they were still getting to know each other, searching for the Essence down in the catacombs. That he only read what was worth reading, preferring depth over breadth.

Vincent, on the other hand, was far more interested in seeing how many places he could get his hands on. He’d learn what he needed to in order to close a deal and continue an operation, but there were some things he never went into further than necessary.  

Which, she supposed, was what she did, too.  She investigated, sometimes too much, but her stories were on a wide variety of topics and fields.  

“Will I get to actually say anything?” Sophia whispered to Morean, who only replied with, “We’ll see.”

“Shall we begin?” Raphael’s lawyer asked, gesturing to Morean.  

His tone was confidant, as if he was sure Raphael’s actions were entirely justifiable.  Sophia’s fists clenched in her lap but she remained silent, turning to her own lawyer and waiting.

“Does Monsieur Laurent know why my client has asked for this meeting?” He started, pretending to shuffle through his papers and rearrange them.

“He does.  Although I fail to see what an ultimatum such as this gets _your_ client.  Her employer is well within his rights to have her sign a non-disclosure agreement.  Just because she doesn’t like it doesn’t mean she can petition to buy out the largest shareholders,” the other lawyer retorted.  “She’s hardly the only one to sign such a document, and she’s done it before.”

Morean let out a breath through his nose and looked patronizingly at the other man.  “She was only forced to sign it after she married Vincent Karm, a man who previously attempted to purchase the magazine and a long-standing corporate rival.  She is being wrongfully punished and assumed to be guilty by association.”

“Your client married someone in order to gain legal status, which has yet to be finalized.  That she chose someone who might want corporate secrets is something she should have considered before saying ‘I do’.”

The back and forth was already making her head spin.  Raphael looked slightly shell-shocked but he’d remained silent.  She was going for his metaphorical jugular. She had to. He didn’t seem to want to listen to reason or play nice.  Vincent was right on the sales numbers; she’d seen the reports Morean obtained from marketing a few days ago. The highest grossing issue of the year she started with the magazine was her issue, where the entire magazine was dedicated to Heloise and Abelard, their story, and the saving of Paris from Vincent’s perfume.  Nothing sold as high but the sales numbers never went as low as they were prior to her article.

She _was_ the only reason Raphael was able to build up his company to what it was today.  And Sophia could see the glimmer in his eyes that he recognized that, too.

“Most employees here are married and are able to have a health balance between their employment and their family.  My client is not allowed to work at home, cannot discuss ideas with her spouse, and it’s straining her physical and mental wellbeing.  I have statements from other employees attesting to their own circumstances and acknowledging the change in workflow for my client.”

Morean politely pushed a few pieces of paper with signatures, names Sophia couldn’t entirely make out immediately.  The writer who sat across from her, a few people in human resources, marketing, even...Alice? Truly?

Her lawyer continued.  “They all say that they’re happy, low-stress, and even under the gun of deadline, never feel as if they compromise their health or happiness for the magazine.  But they _have_ noticed an unfair burden placed on Sophia, and moreso, have attested to your client shutting her down when she doesn’t comply and humiliating her.”

Morean pushed a few more pieces of paper towards the other side of the table.  Her offer on buying out the largest shareholders. They were missing the signatures but had initials from herself and some of the board members, marking changes made to the contract.  Raphael gave her the impression the owners were far more interested in seeing her gone when she’d first returned but after meeting with a few of them in the past few weeks, she saw his words for the farce they were.  The ones with the most skin the game were far more outraged he was using his position to create turmoil for someone who raised the magazine to its current status; more than a few couldn’t care less for what happened to an American who only seemed to create drama and problems wherever she went.

If Raphael didn’t back down, the deal with two phone calls away from being signed.  She had the experience in the field to make a decent asset to the board as far as decisions and competitive analysis.  It came with a learning curve, one she wasn’t sure she could tackle, but Sophia couldn’t back down if it came to that.

“Ultimately, Sophia is, in light of the discrimination and harassment, asking to have her non-disclosure agreement voided and her previous contract reinstated.  If not, she will petition shareholders to vote on a new Editor in Chief and CEO. Many of them have also given statements and acknowledge the conflict, but see no reason for her to punished all because she married someone her boss does not like.  To them, it appears her union is happy and that she is doing her best to reconcile professional differences. Her husband has even cut ties with publications in direct competition with _City of Love_.  The past between these two is hardly secret but it does not warrant this kind of unethical behavior.”

Raphael paled at Morean’s words, his eyes falling on the documents before him.  He looked ill. She felt a little torn when she recognized the expression crossing his face.  His posture fell a little and he suddenly refused to meet her gaze like a petulant child.

She kept her face still at the knowledge that Vincent had done his best to make it appear as if he wasn’t using her to get information.  He hadn’t mentioned anything to her but she couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what some of the more terse phone conversations were about lately.  If anyone understood optics and perception, it was him.

“I have more than enough money at my disposal to buy out the entire enterprise,” Sophia said, her first words all meeting.  “And _that_ would also get rid of the NDA.  But I thought perhaps you should have a taste of what I’m currently dealing with outside of this office.  Pressure from strangers to abide by standards I’m not even aware about for someone else’s sake.”

Raphael scoffed and murmured, “And you call _me_ childish.”

“But you know I’m good for it.  And I know how much _City of Love_ means to you.  Void the NDA and we can pretend this meeting never happened.”

Sophia leaned back in her seat, legs crossed and arms resting on the cool metal arms of the chair, back straight.  The power she held felt _wrong_ to her, disgustingly so.  But it was too late to turn back now.  If she was to keep up this charade, she had to look every bit confident and even arrogant that she would get what she wanted.  

Morean took back the documents after the company lawyer examined them before handing over the actual contract with terms on the agreement to rescind the NDA.

“He’s rubbing off on you,” Raphael muttered, managing a glare across the table.

“Perhaps it was always there,” Sophia replied with ease, her head tilted ever so slightly.  As if she was trying to figure out who Raphael seemed to hate more in that moment: her, or himself.  

He held his love for the magazine over her head more longer than she cared to remember.  It was his passion, his everything, and his crutch. So many nights fighting, so many days wondering if she’d done something wrong because he put his work first.  Her only response was to work as well because he refused to talk about it. About any of it. Their history was messy but perhaps she was too hopeful that he would be an adult about all of this.  

She should have let that notion go when he walked into the chateau that stormy night.  The night that they actually…

Her mind wandered and she let her gaze drift away from the table.  She knew it would give an air of indifference but she hoped her less than professional thoughts wouldn’t betray her.  Sophia was brought out of her own head when Raphael finally saved and reached for a paper.

“Fine,” he snapped as he scribbled his name onto it.  “There. I, Raphael Laurent, hereby agree to rescind all non-client related NDA’s and reinstate the previous employment agreement.  Are we done?”

Morean took the signed document and handed it to Sophia.  She signed her name as well before she handed it back. When she looked up, she found the seat across from her empty and heard the conference door slam shut.

* * *

 

Sophia gathered her things as her computer shut down for the night, her eyes falling to the white box with red string next to her tote bag.  She had a gesture to return and more importantly, a small victory to celebrate.

Raphael’s light was still on in his office and she could hear the pounding of keys, a furious attempt at a late night draft.  He still created some of the content for the magazine; usually the introductions or cover articles featured his input. Something he previously had a hard time keeping up with precisely because of his role as sole proprietor.  

She had to agree that her proposal was a low-blow.  Not something she usually turned to, if at all.

But between his recent behavior and his attempt to blackmail her into a date when she was trying to figure out who killed her best friend, she felt far less sympathy for him.  Sometimes she wondered if the anger she felt about his actions was frustration or anger she should direct at herself. Everyone was flawed but the hindsight and lack of proximity she had in her two year hiatus made her wonder why and how she let herself be so quick to decide on a future.

It was stupid that somehow, Vincent Karm, of all people, put more effort into their false arrangement than Raphael ever seemed to in their engagement.  But then again, how much of that effort was real?

Sophia let out a breath through her nose and sent a text before tossing her phone in her bag.  As she was leaving, she passed Raphael’s office, if only to demonstrate that she was finally leaving for the night and he would be alone.  She held the bakery box by the strings, hoping the contents would make it to the destination without the heat ruining the consistency.

“Sophia?” Raphael called, his tone hesitant and curious.

She took three steps back and stood in the crack of the doorway, peering into the office.  Only one light was on, casting a warm glow on the brick behind the desk, the lights of Paris bleeding into the office through the floor to ceiling windows.  The fourth arrondissement was beautiful at night.

“I’m leaving for the night, everyone else already went home.  I sent you my revisions and I should be all caught up,” Sophia said tersely.

Keep it business, keep it short, she told herself.  The awkward tension hadn’t left her shoulders since the meeting this morning.  He bolted from the room and disappeared from the office for hours, as he often did when he was inspired or stressed. Sometimes it was hard to tell which was which.

“I just...you know how he operates and yet you used him as a last resort. Do you think so little of yourself that you had to sell your soul to someone who can never love another human being?  That there wasn’t another way?”

Sophia raised her arm in a gesture that said she didn’t know but otherwise remained silent. She was tired of people questioning her at every turn. She was married, she was making the most of what she could. That was that.

She wasn’t about to admit that she was something close to happy with the way everything turned out. Things were still awkward and there was an emotional distance that might never be crossed, but...it worked.  Which was the most she could ask for in a hastily arranged marriage.

“I...don’t understand, I suppose.”

“You don’t have to.  I don’t need you to. But I do need you to respect what’s transpired and respect me.”

The familiar dejected expression crossed his face and she could see his guilt was genuine. “I’m sorry.”

Sophia looked away but didn’t move. If he was looking for forgiveness, he wasn’t going to get it. Not immediately, at any rate. The past few months had been trying on their own and his actions only exacerbated all of her anxiety and stress.  It reminded her of why she’d put that ring back in its box and left Paris, for what she thought was for good.

As difficult as Vincent was, she was oddly comforted at the knowledge that emotions didn’t blur everything.  Their decision was logical and a matter of a beneficial trade off. It was easier this way, she supposed. Although she would be lying if she said she held no emotions towards her spouse.  Which frightened her, that she might care for someone like Vincent Karm.

But it made life easier. Unlike her time with the man behind the desk, where romance and emotion were at the forefront of every gesture and every word. Her throat tightened as she remembered how difficult leaving was, how angry and spontaneous and _right_ it felt to just leave everything behind.

Sophia couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever forgive her for leaving.  If there would ever be a time in her employment that wasn’t overshadowed by her hasty decision.  She wasn’t about to forgive him for being bitter and resentful; why should he forgive her for spurning him halfway through wedding plans?  

He would find it hard to forgive her regardless, she speculated. She would never know.  All she could hope for was that he would stop bringing it into their workplace and things could go back to a relative normality.

“Have a good night, Raphael,” Sophia said as she turned and left the office.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adult sexual content within, along with a lot of repression and angst. Enjoy!

Vincent heard Sophia come home while he was still in the middle of an early evening call, discussing projections or possible extensions for a project with a Canadian partner company.  It would be the second delay in a year and soon enough, other investors would start questioning when their return would come.  He listened and looked at the files he was sent but if they didn’t produce more than a proof of concept soon, things would begin to be dire.

He was eager to know how the meeting went this morning.  She’d sent him a picture earlier, some animated thing that said, “Mission Successful”, but otherwise they hadn’t spoken much all day.  She seemed in better spirits already.  If he listened hard enough, he could hear her humming over the clatter of dishes and glasses.

What _was_ she doing?

It was certainly more interesting than this phone call.  If the leader said a jargon word one more time, he was going to cut him off and give him the proper meaning of the word.

“Gentlemen, your points?  I don’t believe you’ve gotten to them and I’m afraid I haven’t gotten to my dinner,” Vincent said, forcing himself to keep his tone in check.

The call was finished less than ten minutes later.  Did no one understand elevator pitches anymore?

Vincent took out his earpiece and turned it off, tossing it onto his desk and shutting the laptop.  He reached up and undid his collar button, loosening his tie.  He had only bothered with his waistcoat, his suit jacket still hanging in the closet, since he’d worked from home.  Esteban’s tag jingled and he looked up to find the pug looking at him with a cocked head, tail wagging.

“Yes, my princeling?”

He was given a few short barks and a snort as a reply before the dog trotted off, no doubt to bury his face in his food bowl.

The dog loved only two things more than his master: food, and naps.

Before he could bring himself to sate his curiosity, there was a knock at the study door and a soft rattle of a tray.

Sophia was holding the tray he’d used for their afternoon tea, so many months ago.  Two steaming cups of tea sat among a sugar bowl, a carafe of cream, and a series of mismatched china plates.  They bore floral patterns and pastel colors, edges rimmed with gold.  Probably her plates, or possibly Kat’s, he realized, from an antique store or relative. He’d never use a set that didn’t match.

On the plates were a small selection of tiny cakes, and a few tiny ramekins of crème brûlée.  Two wine glasses were off to the side, a bottle of fortified wine tucked into the crook of her arm carefully.

Dessert.

“Did your call go well?” She asked, adjusting her hold on the bottle.

Vincent reached forward and took it, leading her into the small room.  He cleared away a space on the desk and she carefully placed the tray down.

“Only just finished.  What’s all this?”  He gestured to the tray as Sophia began spreading out the plates.

The small treats _did_ look good.

But so did she, he admitted.  There was something brighter about her face, her demeanor.  This morning, there was an air of trepidation around her, confidence wrapped in doubt.  She seemed more like the woman he first met, sure of herself, a glint of mischievous ambition showing itself in just the right light.  She couldn’t seem to hold back a smile.

Sometimes he wondered if it was possible live off of just that, someone’s smile and the lilt of their voice.

_It’s not and you know it.  Stop this.  This is madness._

“I wanted to celebrate and say thank you,” she said.  “Everything went according to plan.  The NDA is dissolved, I have my old freedoms back, _and_ TJ might have agreed to meet to discuss designs when he arrives back for Fashion Week.”

He couldn’t blame her for reaching out to someone she was familiar with for her dress.  The designers they’d met were kind but he could see the hesitation in her face when it came time to narrow down the selection; she didn’t like any of the presentations, she’d said so in passing, but if she said no too many times, she wouldn’t have a gown.  Vincent was more surprised she didn’t ask Carter sooner.  Sophia was considerate and always kept tabs on multiple people; she wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t think it was a possibility.

“Might have?” Vincent looked at her with a raised eyebrow as he fixed the tea meant for him.  That smile was too big for her to not have secured Carter in some way.

“In that he’ll meet with only me,” she licked a fleck of frosting off of her finger as she took what she wanted from the selection.  “But it’s probably a solid yes.”

He watched her eye the plates, finger lingering near her lips.  He enjoyed seeing her in thought, even if it was just debating on which petit four to pick.  He’d remained standing, keeping to the side of the desk so there was enough room for her to spread out the dishes.  Sophia looked up at him, caught off-guard, and he felt frozen in place.

“What?” she asked, lowering her finger.  Her eyes scanned his face and seemed to linger on his lips a moment longer than they usually would have.

She was practically radiating excitement, as much as she was trying to hide it.  He could see it in the way she shifted her weight, in the way her eyes focused on the desserts, in the way her lips quirked.  Very few people he knew were capable of such a level of emotion and it was infectious.

It felt as though his lungs could finally fill with air again, knowing some of the pressure was finally off of her.  The photos were bad enough; he had yet to find the source that tipped the photographer off.  She deserved a break from the constant backlash of marrying him.  Despite this arrangement benefiting both of them, she was the one who paid the higher price, as most people with contracts with him did.

That never bothered him before.  

“This was...thoughtful of you,” he said.

When had he gotten so stilted around her?  It wasn’t long ago they were verbally sparring with one another and he was never one to be so short on words.  They didn’t have to be anything more than cordial to each other, he reminded himself.  He could bring himself to say so many things, yet to tell her…

It would change the way she looked at him, considering so many thought him heartless. If she even believed him. Not to mention she might feel obligated to stay or worse yet, take up the offer to live apart.  

He pushed the thoughts away and tried to focus on the present. The tea was malty and bold, a perfect pairing for the crème brûlée.  He glanced at the wine bottle and saw the two complemented each other well. She wanted the effect regardless of what either of them chose to drink.

He watched her face grow pink and she murmured something he couldn’t exactly catch.  It sounded like she said, “Still weird.”  He wasn’t sure she even meant to say anything aloud.

“It’s not like we could go out,” Sophia said as he plucked a petit four from the plate and took a bite. “It’s not a conversation to have in public, all things considered.”

“No, it’s not.  Regardless, the tea goes very well with your choices. As would the wine, I forgot I had that bottle.”

“I cheated, Eugene picked it for me.  Same with the wine.”  Sophia grabbed another mini cake.  “It was a bit last minute.”

Sophia recounted the meeting after they divided up the sweets and Vincent returned to his seat to face her properly.  She settled into the single chair on the other side, her speech only interrupted by her fixing her tea or eating.  She admitted that, although she’d thwarted plans before, it was never personal; the underhandedness of her plan felt almost sickening after Raphael’s comment.

“Even Alia’s actions and Marion’s poisoning weren’t actually against me, as hurtful as both were. They weren’t about me,” she shook her head and he watched her lips meet the cup again.  “But this was and I can’t help feeling...wrong.  Justified, yet…”

“Unlike me, you have a conscious,” Vincent took a sip of his tea and leaned back in his chair, his crème brûlée almost finished.  The small cakes were good but it was obvious as soon as the spoon met his tongue that the bakery specialized in other, creamier, desserts.

“You’re not so bad,” Sophia leaned forward and took the other dessert cup.  She examined it for a moment before taking a spoon to crack the sugar.  “Like crème brûlée.  You have a hard shell but I’m learning you’re quite sweet on the inside.”

She gave him a familiar, mischievous look as she took a spoonful of custard.  

_You’re likely the only one to ever know it exists_.

He swallowed,  breaking eye contact to finish off his own portion. She could always see him for who he was, couldn’t she?  “You aren’t one to threaten without provocation or be cruel just to get ahead.  We might be alike in some aspects but that’s not one of them.”

“It’s probably better that way,” she replied, a smile easing its way onto her lips.

They’re very sweet lip right now, he mused.

They finished in amicable silence, one he knew well, that came with their time traveling together.  She was incredibly kind to him, even when she didn’t have to be.  Snarky at times, certainly, but kind.  Sweet.  Inclusive.

No one bothered to include him in much unless they were obligated to. It came with the territory, he supposed, but it was more apparent now than it was before his prison sentence.  On some level she genuinely trusted him, at least to some degree, and enjoyed her time with him; he could count on one hand how people could say that and one of them was his servant.

He stood and helped gather everything back onto the tray as she took the last of the tea. The wine remained untouched; Vincent peered at it before making a mental note to save it for later occasion, whatever it might be.  He walked around the desk, intending to grab the tray when Sophia broke the silence.

“Wait,” Sophia said, placing her cup back onto the tray and turning toward him.  “You have…”

Before he could process what she meant, she stepped closer and he could smell her shampoo and perfume, citrus mingling with a lighter blend of floral and musk.  A scent so familiar to him by now, present on his pillows and in his closet and yet one that always managed to elicit such a strange reaction in his chest.  Like now, where it felt as if all of the air was taken from his lungs.  

It was terrifying how much power she held over him, how much she invaded his thoughts.  How much he began to think of her and considered her in decisions, not out of routine or obligation, but out of genuine interest.

_She didn’t marry you to become attached.  Don’t do this to yourself._

Surrendering would be a relief.  

_Nothing good ever came from being too close_.

Sophia’s finger brushed his lip, catching the remnants of the chocolate dessert.  

_Embarrassing_. _.._

Her touch sent a jolt through him, the contact sudden but warm.  It wasn’t the first time she ever touched his face but those caresses were rare, unnecessary for them.  And yet he liked it.

Vincent caught her wrist in his hand gently as she went to pull away, instead taking her finger and licking the frosting, eyes holding hers.  He lightly ran his lips over her fingertips, pressing a kiss to each finger, before kissing her wrist.  He watched her eyes grow wide, heard her breath catch in her throat the second his tongue met her skin.  She stared at him for a moment, eyes darting to his lips for a fraction of a second, but she said nothing, too focused on trying to breathe.

He loved when she was caught off-guard.  Ever since their first encounter, he’d done his best to keep her on her toes and all she’d done was continue in her pursuit.  Her stubbornness and perseverance were part of the reason he enjoyed her as an enemy; she didn’t give up, not easily, and it made for an interesting challenge.

But they couldn’t stay like this forever.  The spell would break one way or another.

He leaned down and kissed her fully, suddenly, tasting sugar on her lips.  Sophia gave a muffled sound and he pulled away, enough to let her speak, to let her choose.  Her breath was hot on his lips and he heard her just over the thrumming of blood in his ears, already pooling elsewhere in his body.

“More,” was all she said, all she seemed to be able to manage.  

Sophia wrapped her ankle around his to drive her point home, pulling him into her by his tie.  All that managed to do was bring them to the floor, Vincent’s hand finding the back of her head without second thought before they landed in a heap.  She didn’t need a concussion just because he was incredibly eager.

She recovered quickly, reached up and kissed him, tongue finding his with an ease he never expected her to have with him.  She tasted of sugar, of cream, and the faintest hint of chocolate.  His two weaknesses paired together, his secret sweet tooth and a journalist too inquisitive for her own good.  

Their hands roamed, Sophia’s pushing away his waistcoat after deftly finding the buttons, and he threw the garment to the side, along with his tie.  He felt her fingers in his hair, on his neck and shoulder-blades, sometimes dipping just below his waistband.  Wherever she touched him, she left a trail of fire, one that only she could could extinguish.  Vincent rested a hand on her breast, squeezing lightly through her dress as his other hand trailed up her side, searching for the zipper.  She wriggled, her hips brushing against his and sending a delightful spark through him.

“In the back,” Sophia said between kisses, arching up so he could reach behind her.

He pulled at the tiny zipper with a little more force than necessary, dragging the fabric down her arms before returning to unclasp her bra.  It joined his waistcoat, cast off to the side.  She was warm against him, the heat radiating through his shirt.  The tension below his belt was unbearable and he let out a strangled groan when Sophia angled her hips against his hardness and bucked.

Vincent broke the kiss and worked his way down the column of her neck and nipped at the curve where her neck met her shoulder, just hard enough to elicit the throaty sigh he adored so much.  He kissed his way down along her collarbone, her breastbone, before finding the soft flesh of her breast.  Vincent’s hands fell to her hips, keeping her in place, unable to tease him for now.  He flicked his tongue over one nipple, already sensitive and hard.  Sophia’s hands tried to reach for him but only ended up in his hair, fingers curled and pulling at the locks gently, pleadingly.  

She didn’t have to plead.  He could feel her wetness, her panties soaked against his trousers.  He felt himself throb at the cry she gave when he bucked and brushed her clit.

This wouldn’t last long for either of them.  There hadn’t been time for this when they’re returned to Paris, not really.  Occasional trysts in the middle of the night, scarce weekend mornings whether neither of them wanted to get out of bed.  He liked to think they’d gotten it out of their system, gotten past the tension and desire that trailed them like a bloodhound.

That clearly wasn’t the case, he mused as his hands left her hips to tease their way up her thighs.  His finger brushed against her wet core and he couldn’t help the moan that left his lips at the sensation of feeling her, eager and probably aching as much as he was.  He hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged the garment down her legs, another piece of fabric strewn somewhere out of sight. 

“In that case...” she murmured with a smirk, her hands making quick work of his belt and fly, pushing his pants down his hips.  

Leaving him as he left her, partially undressed and incredibly aroused.  His sigh of relief caught in his throat as her fingers teased his tip, circling the sensitive flesh.  Two could play that game.  His fingers ran up her thigh, grazing her skin, before his thumb settled on his clit.  Her chest heaved, breasts brushing his chest with every inhale as he teased her in turn.

It become too much to bear and he stopped to reach around her and pull her into a sitting position as he sat back on his knees, plush carpet beneath him and her legs around him.  His pants would be wrinkled, no doubt, along with her dress, but he couldn’t bring himself to care that they were only partially undressed.  He kissed her again, one hand at the small of her back, the other holding the back of her head, as he had when they toppled earlier.

She was hot and slick against him, grinding her hips against his with a fervor reminiscent of their first night together.  He let go of her with one hand long enough to position himself at her entrance.  Sophia moved slower, easing herself onto him until he was buried as far as he could be without hurting her.  

Vincent held her against him, one hand under her to keep her in his lap, the other leaving her hair to wrap around her.  Their thrusts were short, almost frantic, their kisses more erratic than before.  He hadn’t wanted it to be this way but their pace was set and it seemed as if slowing down meant certain death.  As much as he needed his release, he needed hers more.  Needed to feel her stiffen in his arms, feel her tighten around him, feel her melt in his arms because she was satisfied.

She was quivering now, her soft whines turning into much louder cries of absolute need.  He kissed her again, lost in the haze of how she felt against him, around him.  There was only them and his driving need to feel her quake against him, somehow make her understand that this wasn’t just…

She shattered in his arms, walls clenching him over and over.  Her cries turned into moans as she rode out her orgasm, each wave feeling tighter than the last, their bodies trembling together until he, too, reached his release with a low groan.

Sophia pressed her forehead to his shoulder, catching her breath.

“Don’t tell me I tired you out that easily,” he whispered, fighting silence with every fiber of his being.

Silence would make it strange.  Make it more than it needed to be.  More than it should be.

“Hardly,” she replied with a scoff.  “It was just...different.  Really, _really_ good, but different.”

Hesitation seemed to sit on her words, as if she couldn’t find any other way to describe it.  It was different from what they were used to.  There was always some kind of space between them, even if they ended up tangled together during the night afterwards.  And the floor certainly wasn’t a place they’d…

She was right, he knew, if the knot in his stomach was anything to go by.  It wasn’t exploratory, it was pure need, need for one another.  A need for her, a deeper need than he ever expected or wanted to have.  

Sophia lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him for the first time since their initial kiss. Her lips were slightly swollen but she seemed preoccupied with searching for something.  What, he wasn’t sure. But her silence was putting him on edge and his heart felt like it was going to break out of his chest.

“Vincent...I…no one’s…when I said it was different, I meant...”

Her words lingered in the air.  Hearing her struggle for words only seemed to cut into him like a knife, the truth he kept pushing back only twisting it further.  

He brushed back her hair back from her face, her once-neat arrangement a half-tangled mess.  Touching her felt like an honor, one he’d earned somewhere between his jail cell and their marriage vows.  He held her a moment longer, burying his face in her neck as the pit in his stomach grew larger.  She might be uncertain but there was little room for doubt in his mind now.

_Don’t ruin this_ , he thought.  He wasn’t sure who he meant it for.  If he was begging himself to not be a fool or begging Sophia not to say something ridiculous. 

It already was ruined.  Carefully laid plans burned to ashes the moment he grew too close.  Intentions to only, at best, be married friends, incinerated somewhere along the way.  Contracts didn’t leave room for emotional collateral. 

She couldn’t know.  Not now.  Now was very much not a good time to admit he cared for her far more than he ever expected to.  Maybe in five years, when all was said and done.

He should have known once he hunted down that photographer, once he involved his own lawyer in her affairs that it was no longer a charade to just the outside world.  It began to be one between them too.  A careful balance of caring without outwardly caring too much.  Of hiding behind the clauses of the contract without being overbearing.

For now, they untangled themselves and he helped her up, her eyes meeting his briefly before looking away.  They redressed, or at least gathered up strewn articles of clothing, the tension so thick he swore he was, for a second, back in the courthouse as she gave testimony.  He saw Sophia open and close her mouth several times as she stood in the doorway, dress held up with one hand, but no words ever came.

He wanted to say the three words that kept repeating themselves over and over.  The words he hoped she would say.  It would be so much easier if she said them first.  But the part of her that took action first and thought later wasn’t the part that dictated her heart, not anymore.  She’d insinuated as much after explaining her botched engagement and the attitude between her and Raphael solidified it months ago.

Instead, he offered to take care of the tray, to let her clean up and give them both a chance to clear their heads.  Something was showing itself and it wasn’t his ego.  Vincent watched her leave the room and head towards the bedroom.  He passed Esteban on his way to the kitchen.  The pug looked at him, cocked his head, and then snorted before heading upstairs to his own bed.

He didn’t miss the judgmental brown eyes watching him, a soft mew escaping the animal on the back of the sofa.  Whiskey’s tail flicked occasionally as the cat watched him with half-lidded eyes when he left the kitchen some time later.

Great, even the pets knew something was wrong.

Sophia was already drifting off to sleep when he turned in, her breathing a tad too deep for her to be asleep just yet.  She opened her eyes when he adjusted his pillow, watching him in the darkness before reaching out to touch his hand with hers.

“I meant no one’s ever made me come that way before,” Sophia whispered, a hint of awe in her voice.  Or perhaps he was listening too hard, looking for things that weren’t there.  It was quickly replaced with her usual humor, her index finger pointed in mock warning.  “Don’t let that go to your head, though.”

He chuckled.  “Too late, my dear.  I take my credit where I can get it.  Even if it’s not mine.”

“ _Especially_ if it’s not yours.”

“You wound me.”

“Someone has to keep that ego in check.”

There.  Normalcy.  They would move on from the moment and everything would return to normal.  To what it should be.  He held back a sigh of relief.  Façade maintained.  For now.

Sleep came easier to her though and he couldn’t help but envy her a little.  He’d adjusted to her movement, letting her tangle herself around him in the early hours of the morning.  He would be tired, he knew, but if he was only promised one chance at something close to reciprocation, let it be this.  Unmarred and silent, with her head tucked her his chin and her legs locked with his.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

A secret he would only share with the dark.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take it back; this might actually be the shortest chapter of this story. Just a quick update to get some of the tension and Sophia's thoughts out of the way!

When she woke up the next morning, it was to arms around her waist and a nose pressed against the curve of her neck, a warm body behind hers.  The only sounds were Vincent’s breathing and Esteban’s soft snores from his bed nearby.

She silently lamented that she was’t facing him.  Sophia couldn’t help but wonder if his brow was creased, if he was having a less peaceful sleep than his body led on.  The only time he was ever seemingly relaxed was when he was asleep, except for moments of dark dreams or stress. She was attuned to it ever since their ride home weeks ago.  Parts of his past lingered in ways no one else truly saw. She wasn’t the only one who struggled with the occasional dream where waking up meant reliving the pain of loss, where reality caught up dreams.  Sometimes she pressed her lips to the knit between his brows lightly in an attempt to ease the tension there. Occasionally it helped.

Not that she needed to help.  He didn’t ask her to.

She shifted slightly and felt Vincent’s arms adjust to her.  For a moment she thought he was awake but when his breathing stayed even, she let herself relax again.

Last night was unexpected.  She anticipated dessert, conversation, but not necessarily initiation.  She only wanted to thank him and have some kind of small celebration. Without him, nothing would have gone as it did.  Returning his gesture from a few weeks ago seemed the perfect way to thank him.

Something sparked to life within her as soon as his lips touched her finger.

But that wasn’t quite true, Sophia thought as she traced feather light patterns over his knuckles, careful not to wake him.  It didn’t come to life as much fuel an already existing fire smoldering deep within her. All he’d done was add kindling, just enough for her to be consumed.  It was a need deeper than carnal fulfillment. She’d needed him, yes, but it wasn’t about reaching that blissful peak, frantic though it had been.

They were still clothed but, with the exception of their first night together, they’d never been closer than they were last night.

Something was different.  Something in the way he kissed her, in the way he’d held her.  

Usually their intimate moments were talked about, acted on only after both agreed.  Their night in his office was spontaneous, an innocent gesture turned not-so-innocent.

It was no longer a simple arrangement. Not for her.  The air between them changed the second she tried to say something meaningful.  She should have said nothing, or at the most, thanked him and left it at that. Talking about it would make it weird.  It meant having to admit she could spend the rest of her life with him and be happy.

And what if he didn’t feel that way?  What if he didn’t want to stay with her?  

He didn’t have to.  He didn’t have to hold her while he slept either.

Sophia let out a breath through her nose.  That was her doing too, at least a few hours ago.  She woke up before the sun came up, awake only enough to move, and burrowed into him.  Something she’d done plenty of times, especially whenever a thunderstorm passed, but that too felt different.  Vincent resisted her a little, growing tense unless he was the one reaching to comfort her or be with her. She expected some pushback but he simply let her fold herself against him, almost as if welcoming her into his arms.  Hadn’t he said something, too?

A soft thump and a familiar trill broke her train of thought.  Whiskey sauntered up Sophia’s side of the bed, bunted her cheek, and then curled up nearby.  There was, after all, plenty of room to spare in a king sized bed. The cat’s eyes shut slowly and she was left alone in her consciousness again.

Sophia took one of Vincent’s hands carefully.  He stirred behind her for a moment, a sleepy murmur of French against her ear as she adjusted his arm so it rested against her breastbone and she could lock her fingers with his.  When he stilled again, she let her lips graze his knuckles as she whispered, “I love you. That scares me. But I love you all the same.”

Silence greeted her but her chest felt a little lighter all the same.  She closed her eyes and fell back asleep with little difficulty. At least in her dreams she could pretend not all of this was an act.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not like cooperating with me at all! But it's a nice long update to make up for the previous chapter's length! TJ finally enters the scene and we get some weird tension later on! Once again, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

“Is there any chance of your waist size changing?” TJ asked flatly as he pulled the measuring ribbon away from her to write down what felt like the millionth measurement that morning.

He’d ushered her through his studio, a large space divided up into sections for fabric, prototypes, shoes, hairstyling and make-up, technological additions.  There was a whole fabric section dedicated to different shades of black, broken down by hue and fabric type. Orange was featured throughout most of the prototypes and designs she caught glimpses of, but more often than not, they were subdued versions of what she saw the previous year when they met up again.  

She was introduced to another man, TJ’s assistant, but the lingering glances between the two men told her there was something more there.  She hoped so, at any rate. TJ deserved to be happy again and forget about the past few years. He never said much about it but it was clear that his time in Paris was not what it could have been, that Vincent broke any solid foundations of trust TJ had.  

He asked her to undress and put on the slip he asked her to bring and it was after a solid ten minutes of silence only broken by occasional requests to move and shift that he asked about her waist.  She’d brought pictures of her wedding dresses as well. They were the only reference points she had to wearing detailed, elegant dresses and her choices would help him change up the design he created years ago.

Sophia looked up from the lower corner of the tri-fold mirrors she stood in front of and watched TJ as he jotted the number down.  Her eyes were wide but her brow furrowed. Was he _serious_?  

He was taken aback by her dark look and chuckled softly.  “Everyone gets so offended when I ask. It’s a legitimate question.  I don’t know your diet or eating habits and you’re...well, you’re…” TJ trailed off and Sophia’s hand fell to her left hand instinctively.  

That TJ was even doing this for her meant that he was willing to put aside his past with Vincent, if only momentarily.  The last topic she wanted to discuss with her friend was whether that same man and her wanted anything more than precisely what their plan appeared to be; a business arrangement.

“Married to an opportunistic...?” She asked softly, knowing this wasn’t a topic TJ even wanted to approach.

“Vulture,” TJ finished for her, the word coming to his lips with ease.

The word hurt her to think and she couldn’t bring herself to say it.  Vincent didn’t know how she felt, truly felt, and she’d like to keep it that way.  At least for now. But he wasn’t a monster or a scavenger to her. He hadn’t been since Kat’s murder.

“Marriage doesn’t much matter on that front, but you’re thirty.  Thirty-one almost? Arm up,” TJ nudged her right arm in order to continue with his work.  “I was actually going to say you’re spontaneous enough to just...decide one day you want something.  You never cared whether people approved of your decisions, just that we supported you regardless.”

_Like a husband who could actually love me back?_

“I’m not in a position to consider putting a child in the mix.  That’s one decision I wouldn’t make flippantly.”

“Are things bad?  Has he...been…threatening?”

TJ nudged her and moved her this way and that to get every measurement he needed, talking all the while.

“He hasn’t, not once.  I just don’t think this scenario warrants a child when we don’t know what’ll happen and when this was...well, a marriage of convenience.”

She had a feeling he wanted to go down the route Louise already had in regards to the longevity of this arrangement.  Year one was less than six months through. It was impossible to know or see the end coming when he treated her the way he did, when their time together wasn’t treacherous or vile, as some might think it was.  It warmed her, though, that TJ wasn’t as outraged in person and she hoped he never got the satisfaction to say that he told her how this would go.

“Vincent always has an opinion.”

“It’s my choice.  He’s said as much.”

Sophia left out the bit where the child would have to Vincent’s.  He’d made that quite clear from the beginning. Telling TJ the exact details of their agreement would open the can of worms about the terms of an open relationship.  She got lucky with Louise but TJ was never anything except open about how much he disliked Vincent; he would only see it as a chance for her to find someone that wasn’t him.

Not to mention she didn’t _want_ anyone else.  It wasn’t a topic worth fighting and losing a friend over.  It was exhausting to watch her words all the time but she this was the better option.

It would be selfish of her to consider having a child in this position.  Selfish and agonizing. Every time she looked at the child, she would be reminded of its father and her circumstances, how she loved a man who probably didn’t love her.  Made all the worse by the possibility that they wouldn’t stay married. The mere idea made her head ache in confusion and her heart want to implode in her chest.

She couldn’t do that to another, bring them into the world in circumstances that weren’t stable.  Hell, she couldn’t even tell him she loved him, how could she even consider anything more?

“Make sure it stays that way.  I’m not oblivious to the...annoyance...that he worked his way back to the top.  He’s not going to be pressured into that decision but they might pressure _you_.”

“TJ, I know my own mind.”

“I’m not saying you don’t.  But just make sure your decision is because you want it, not because it’s what’s best for public image.”

He finished her measurements in silence but a melancholy look never left his face, even when he smiled.  His words seemed to be spoken from the heart, from an experience he didn’t want to think about again. TJ’s time with Alia wasn’t healthy, she saw that in the two minutes of bickering she was witness to.  It was a relationship covering up a lot of pain, pain he dealt with long before she’d arrived back in Paris.

Pain that came through when he released his latest collection, bright creations that, with a closer look, had a lot of elements of traditional Chinese design.  

“Your PR people told you not to date Kat, didn’t they?”  Sophia asked as she slid her jeans and shirt back on.

“Said she was just looking for someone rich to support her goals with academia.  That she was too edgy for me, too angry,” TJ rolled up the measuring ribbon and gestured for her to step down from the raised platform in front of the mirrors.  “I pushed her away publicly because I was told it was best for my career and all it got me was another therapist and a lot of shit about being involved with the woman who flooded Paris.  I lost a lot of connections and money, not to mention one of the only muses Paris ever gave me.”

“TJ…”

Sophia watched him for a moment as he gathered the measurements, a sketchbook, and his phone.  He swiped away a message and turned back to her, embarrassment etched into his features.

“I couldn’t turn down your request, not only because you’re my friend, but for once, Vincent’s reputation seems to be worthy of coat-tail riding.  I need the publicity.”

“And you’ll have it,” Sophia said, reaching out and touching his arm.

“I missed your optimism,” TJ turned and lead her out of the room, her arm in the crook of his elbow.  “Come on, I need coffee and have too many ideas in my head.”

* * *

TJ was on his third cup in two hours but they finally had a solid concept back in his office.  Black and gold, as the original design detailed. The bodice would have a soft sweetheart neckline in a glittery gold fabric that faded into a deep black.  Layers and layers of tulle.

“The theme is meant to be cheerful,” Sophia said, pulling out the invitation for the gala.  “They went with the classic idea of Paris being the city of light in order to bring morale back up.”

“Rich people don’t need morale when they have house insurance,” TJ scoffed, sketching intently.

“All of the ticket money and donations are going to efforts to find displaced people new homes and rebuild what they can.  If the theme makes people spend more money, so be it. It’s cheesy as hell but it’s patriotic.”

Her words hung in the room like the strange chandelier above the desk, white with an orange interior.  Futuristic and strange. She was pretty sure she saw it in an IKEA once or twice.

“Light...wait…” TJ abandoned his sketchbook and went right for his laptop, eyes scanning as his fingers flew across the screen.  “What if we did this?”

“Like actual…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence; TJ turned his Macbook around and showed her a dozen pictures of someone at what was likely the Met Gala wearing a luminescent dress.  Other dresses were clearly wedding dresses or merely concepts.

“But gold or a soft yellow.  It’ll make the gold really shimmer.  It’s likely not the only dress that’s going to attempt it but for your first public outing, you want it to be a statement.  Plenty of gossip outlets mention how happy—strange as it seems to me—you seem to make each other,” TJ paused as he reached for his metal water bottle rather than the mug of now-cold coffee.  “You brought light to the Parisian Prince of Darkness. What better way to show your dedication to the city than to be that metaphorical?”

Sophia stared at him for a moment as she took a sip of her coffee, her first and only cup of the morning.  “I know you, TJ. You think it’s cliched and romantic as hell and you love every second of it.”

He paused for a moment, one hand on the top of the bottle, before he laughed softly.  “It _is_ pretty romantic but I’m not sure I’ll get over the hurdle of this involving Vincent—which you still never explained entirely, by the way.”

She deserved that one.  Sophia gave a weak and apologetic smile and promised to give a better story another time.

“It’s a narrative I can work with, though.  Keep the dress between us though, okay? I want to see the look on the vul—”

“Could you not call him that?” she interrupted, taking another sip before adding.  “I know you don’t like him, which is putting it mildly, but he’s given me a way to stay.  And if I didn’t stay, we wouldn’t be having this conversation about a dress.”

TJ inhaled deeply and let the breath out so slowly she wasn’t sure he _was_ breathing.  His pencil rested in his fingers and he rolled it slowly, deliberately as he thought over her words. She knew the topic was a difficult one and she didn’t want to overstep.  Yet she wasn’t a fan of the name. It was disrespectful, even if TJ was her friend.

“I’ll refrain in your presence and in public; I don’t have to like him to do this job.  I just want to see him stunned into silence. I want to remind him that he married someone too good for him.”

She smiled and they set to work finalizing a design.

* * *

Sophia returned home to find the dining table covered in wooden boxes, silver finery, and a lot of knick-knacks.  She recalled a few of them but couldn’t figure out where they were from within the house. Eugene had on white gloves and an apron on over his waistcoat and shirt.  His jacket was folded neatly and draped over the back of the couch in the sunken sitting area. The air smelled strongly of some kind of polish and she openly gagged.

Esteban’s tag jingled and she looked up to find Vincent at the top of the stairs, a small wooden box in his hands.  The dog led the way for his owner, snuffling as he greeted Sophia home. He was always so happy to see her.

“What is…?” She asked, gesturing to the table as she took her shoes off.

“I’m picking out cufflinks,” Vincent replied as he descended before giving a short command to the pug and walking towards the table.  “Can you pick a few that are likely to match your colors? Not knowing your design makes matching harder.”

“Oh, and Morean is here, he’s in your study,” Eugene chimed as he focused on one spot in particular on a silver pot she’d never seen Vincent use before.

She only caught a glimpse but the box was made of a dark wood and seemed to be hand-carved.  She’d never seen it before; her didn’t keep it in his closet, certainly.

And what was Morean doing here?  He hadn’t called or emailed her with news or updates.  Neither man gave further explanation but she wasn’t ready to deal with the lawyer just yet.

Sophia followed her husband to the dining table and saw Vincent gesture to the wooden box, indicating for her to open it.  He said something softly in French, something about not looking somewhere, but she didn’t catch his words. She was too focused on the ornate detail of the container.  It would have looked right at home in a museum and here he was, using it. She reached and opened the dark wooden box and found the top tray filled with an eclectic array of cufflinks and a few rings.  Sophia’s eyes fell on a gold pair with a black stone inlaid into them, flat and gleaming. Classical but plain. She pulled them out of their resting place but they felt unimpressive, not quite the match she was hoping for.  Perhaps there was more.

Sophia’s fingers gripped the dividers in the lined tray and went to pull it up when a larger hand held her wrist, preventing her from doing so.  The hold wasn’t tight by any means, only meant to act as a warning. Vincent pressed his cheek to her temple and said, “I asked you not to look underneath.  I will not ask again, Sophia.”

His words weren’t threatening or cruel, merely stern. The same tone he took when he was tired of repeating himself to Eugene or anyone else.  She’d heard it before when he was on dreadfully boring phone calls that he had to answer. He withdrew his hand from her wrist gently when her fingers released the tray.

“I’m sorry,” she said, unsure whether to move away from him.

“I should have said so in English.  My apologies,” Vincent replied, the words smooth but without warmth.

Usually he wasn’t so prickly about his personal things. Or he hadn’t been. Ever since their wedding, he was open with his past and made her feel as though she was welcome to touch anything she wanted.  The spark of curiosity that drove her to dog a case until it was finished flared up in her mind and she couldn’t help but wonder what he wanted to keep from her.

And away from Eugene, judging by the look she caught between the two men.  The servant knew his boundaries and didn’t need a verbal cue to only attend to what he was told to.

What could he want her to not see?  Was he continuing his less-than-legal activities despite all he stood to lose again?

“Ah, I thought I heard another voice.  I was told you’d be gone longer.”

Sophia jumped, her mind no longer focused on the wooden box but on the patronizing lawyer who seemed to make himself at home by leaving his designated waiting spot.  She was pretty sure such an action was rude but she wasn’t in the frame of mind to point it out. Despite working for her, he was first and foremost Vincent’s lawyer; that working relationship was far more important.  Even now, she had a role to play and questioning him wasn’t part of it.

She blinked before coming back to reality.  “Is there something you need, Monsieur?”

Morean rocked back on his heels once, his hands in his pockets before he approached the trio.  She couldn’t help but notice that, despite it being a weekend, he was dressed in a full light grey suit.  The color didn’t fit him. It only made him look more washed out, between his grey eyes and mousy brown hair.  Even Vincent dressed down on weekends, having forgone his suit in favor of a sweater vest and what were probably chinos.  Vincent brushed a kiss on her temple and left Sophia’s side to organize the table and Eugene glanced up once but otherwise kept working.

“A few signatures, actually.  I have some wonderful news and some things to go over with you regarding your application.”

“What kind of things, exactly?”

Her mind raced as she wondered what, exactly, he needed her for.  Were they _finally_ processing her application?  Could her test date have been set?  Or, worse yet, was she never going to get citizenship, marriage or not?  Could they even _do_ that?  Anxiety crept up her spine as she wondered could have possibly have made Morean appear on a weekend.  It had to be _important_ , perhaps even _good_.  

_Don’t get ahead of yourself.  Don’t expect this to be..._

Vincent’s gaze met hers and then settled on the lawyer, silently demanding an explanation.  He didn’t like to be led on, she well knew, and Morean was trying his patience.

“Your application was processed and you have your proficiency test date,” Morean pulled his hands out of his pockets and held his arms out, as if presenting a miracle.  His voice was tight despite the enthusiasm of his gesture. “But new language standards to go over for the naturalization exam and a few other things to sign.”

The man was so cold towards her that she knew better than to take his word for anything, lawyer or not.  He didn’t trust her, nor she him. It was a standard he’d placed from the very beginning when she was still sitting in jail.  While he’d helped her in regards to Raphael’s trouble, he was still a stick in the mud and someone that refused to do more than give her the time of day.  It didn’t sit well with her at all.

“That was...fast,” Sophia looked at Vincent, skeptical.  How could such a bureaucratic process move so quickly now that she was married?  It barely crawled prior to their nuptials.

Vincent met her gaze and tilted his head to the side ever so slightly as he considered the situation.  “You did provide France with exceptional service and made a commitment. I have no doubt that was considerable help in your favor.”

“You have a lot to still do.  Interviews with police, and your interview and exam for fluency in two years’ time.  I merely got them to overlook the time requirements on most of your documents.” Morean brushed a nonexistent piece of lint from his lapels.  “Shall I return another time, _Madame_?”

Sophia hesitated, still processing that their plan _worked_.  She was going to be a citizen, and in a shorter time frame than she initially expected.  It meant her five years with Vincent wouldn’t be as stressful once that was out of the way.  By then…well, perhaps things would be different by then. Maybe this would be more than roommates with benefits.  Perhaps he’d even love her, to some degree. Or maybe he would pursue someone else, romantically or otherwise. The uncertainty that used to propel her into her career now felt like it was throttling her.

The only certainty she had was this.  Was her application. Was her determination to have a French passport alongside her American one.  

She needed to gather her thoughts.  This was the last thing she expected when she returned home.  First her dress and now this. Things were...going too well. And when they went to well, it usually meant…

Sophia steeled herself and did the best she could at acting like the wife of a man of standing.  “No, but I did just come home, Monsieur. Please excuse me for a moment. Vincent,” she turned to her husband, who was watching the lawyer before he turned back to her, amusement twitching the corner of his mouth.  “Could I have a word with you?”

Vincent nodded and followed her upstairs, out of earshot.  She wasn’t sure if the hand on the small of her back was comforting or foreboding.

* * *

Eugene watched as his employer left the living area, his once laser-precise focus on the silver her was polishing broken by the news.  He would be lying if he said he didn’t like Sophia and what she brought out in Vincent. It was thanks to her that his job now felt like less like being on a hamster wheel.  Years of working for the CEO meant he saw Vincent at every state of being, from sick to delighted, and nothing so far made his boss as...well, happy, as Sophia did.

He wasn’t oblivious to the slip-ups, to the kiss in the kitchen before their wedding, to the small touches and gestures.  They hadn’t married for love but they were stupid if they didn’t think it existed between them. He’d known that from the first time he met the American; no one else offered a challenge to his employer in a long time, caught his attention like she did.  Eugene heard more of his fair share of rants and curses at her when she first began solving whatever Vincent was after, along with strange spoken musings about her hair in the fire of the catacombs or how blue eyes could send a spark right through him.

“Would I be able to get a cup of coffee, since it would seem I’m staying longer than I wished to?” Morean drawled in French.

Eugene wasn’t entirely sure what Vincent saw in the lawyer anymore.  A once cocky attitude had turned arrogant and cold over the years, especially since Vincent’s arrest.  

“Anything else I can prepare for you, Monsieur?” Eugene pulled off the white gloves after setting down the silver pot.

“Just coffee.”

The servant kept his stoic expression on and mumbled a “right away” as he strode off into the kitchen.  Coffee wouldn’t take long and the couple upstairs would probably want some as well when they returned. Eugene worked around the kitchen, gathering cups and matching saucers, sugar, a carafe of cream, and a small shaker of cinnamon that snuck its way onto the counter months ago.  Sophia didn’t have a need to bring large furniture when she moved in, but her presence was felt in other ways. In the cat beds that were strewn throughout the penthouse, in the extra shoes by the door, the extra drycleaning, in the collections of dishes and movies and books.

Vincent never needed cinnamon before and therefore didn’t keep it in the house until Sophia came along.

Eugene gathered everything on a tray and was about to set everything up in the sunken sitting area when he noticed Morean with his back to the kitchen, looking at something on the table.  There was a soft clatter and he watched the lawyer open up the small dark box and set aside the tray without a second thought.

“What are you doing?” Eugene asked coolly, working to keep his hands steady as they gripped the tray handles.

The lawyer glanced over his shoulder with nonchalance and them resumed his digging.  “Like you’ve never considered uncovering what secrets your boss keeps, hmm?”

“I haven’t, actually.  I will not ask again: remove your hands from Vincent’s belongings.”

Morean scoffed and held up three tiny blue vials, shaking them a little before tucking them away in his jacket pocket.  He turned to Eugene and gave a mocking smile.

“I knew he hadn’t gotten rid of all of it.  Why would he? It was the rarest of the items he’s ever touched, next to the woman he somehow managed to make his wife.  He _collects_ , does he not?  Collectors never let go of what they find most valuable,” Morean patted his breast pocket for emphasis.  “It’s your job to keep secrets, isn’t it? But you didn’t know about this one.”

He was right, as much as Eugene didn’t want to admit it.  His white-knuckled hold on the tray was the only thing keeping him from punching the man in the face and retrieving what was Vincent’s, no matter what it was.  The last he (and everyone else) knew, the Essence was destroyed for good. Thrown into the Seine never to be seen again.

“You won’t say a thing, and if you do, I’ll make sure it’s in your coat the vials are found in.  Understand?” Morean flashed him a wide, sinister grin.

He’d met intimidating people before; he was no stranger to anyone trying to exert power over him in order to hurt Vincent.  This didn’t scare him. But that Morean was working directly with Sophia and he now had the means to ruin what, on the outside, seemed like a normal marriage…

The idea of Sophia yet again being tangled into something harmful twisted his heart; the notion coming true meant he’d failed to do his job.  Vincent before Sophia wasn’t dreadful but after her, _without_ her?  A man like Vincent didn’t lose the love of his life without it severely damaging him. Once was enough. Twice?  They spoke as if divorce was such an easy option after all was done but Eugene knew better than to think it would be clean and emotionless at this point.  They wouldn’t survive a permanent parting. Vincent would always crave the chase and the challenge, enjoy demonstrating the power he still held. Deep down, he wanted to care for someone the way he cared for Esteban, a close connection that didn’t involve money and status. Sophia would need the challenge but she was incredibly caring, self-sacrificing even.  After the events last year, she needed someone to remind her that life wasn’t as empty as it felt. They weren’t perfect but they complemented each other in ways Eugene hadn’t seen in a long time.

She made Vincent happy, even when she frustrated him.  And she couldn’t get hurt.

Eugene said nothing, eyes firmly glued to the teasing grey ones in front of him.  He would find another way to get the truth to them, and in the meantime, keep a closer eye on Sophia whenever she met with Morean.  He had the will; where there was will, there was a way.

Morean’s cold hand patted Eugene’s bare cheek and lingered a little longer than necessary, the smile never budging from his lips.

“So glad we understand one another.”

Eugene’s expression didn’t change, eyebrows knit and mouth in a stern flat line as the lawyer backed away.  He could hear soft voices coming from the stairs, Sophia’s laughter more joyful than Vincent’s low chuckle. Sounds like that reminded him of how much he enjoyed caring for others, taxing though his job was.

Rather than let the couple see the awkward tension, the servant went to pass Morean and set up the tray on the coffee table.  He intentionally didn’t look at the other man as he went, intent on ignoring him as much as his duties would allow.

His mistake.

Eugene felt his one foot catch on Morean’s leg, extended just into his path as he moved.  The tray flew from his hands and slid across the floor, but not before its contents spilled all over the cold hardwood.  Cinnamon and sugar scattered across the wood, the cream pooling over the edge of the tray and into the granular piles. The cups and saucers were in various states of destruction, one set cracked and the other two broken into so many pieces they would never be made whole ago.

The noise was enough to drive Esteban to a barking spree and bring Vincent and Sophia straight downstairs.  The fall winded him for a moment and as he struggled to his feet, Eugene didn’t miss the dark glint in Morean’s eyes when he looked back at him.

* * *

“What’s going on here?” Vincent asked, a struggling Esteban in his arms.  His gestures were usually enough to soothe the pug, but not today.

Sophia looked at her husband, his green eyes narrow as they took in the scene in front of them.  A tray, fixings for coffee, three cups and their matching saucers, two of which were shattered beyond repair.  One of them was hers, one she’d bought with Kat back when they were attending college together ten years ago.

Whiskey mewed from his hiding spot behind the couch, tail swishing as he watched the humans with interest.  He wasn’t a fan of cream, thankfully, and she was spared having to scoop him up before he cut himself.

Morean looked like he wasn’t concerned for Eugene at all, standing away from the man as if touching him would burn him.  He didn’t even seem like he attempted to help the other man up. Sophia watched him for a moment longer before resting a hand on Vincent’s arm, a signal she hoped told him to go easy on the situation.  She then went into the kitchen in search of a broom, dustpan, and a few towels to clean up the milk and wet sugar.

“I must be going, I’m afraid, I have a lunch appointment I cannot be late for,” she heard Morean drawl from the other room.  “We’ll handle the paperwork at a more...convenient time.”

“I’ll make an appointment,” Vincent’s voice was tight.  As she dug underneath the sink for the shabby towels Eugene kept there, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was out of anger or embarrassment.

She heard the front door close as she returned from the kitchen, intent on cleaning up the mess and moving on.  Eugene looked paler than usual, a feat for him given his light complexion, and Vincent hadn’t moved an inch. He was still glaring daggers at the door before aiming his gaze back to the manservant.  Sophia began picking up the remnants of the cups and saucers and dropped them carefully into the dustpan.

Eugene didn’t make mistakes like this.  He was ridiculous at times, even silly, but he was steadfast in his attention to detail and care for both of them.  He wasn’t so easily thrown off focus as to spill an entire tray without much prompting. And the lawyer didn’t even attempt to...

“I was preparing coffee and I...lost my footing,” Eugene stammered, his eyes wide when he caught sight of Sophia kneeling to gather the large broken pieces of porcelain.  “I can—”

“I’ve cleaned up my fair of broken things, Eugene.  You have enough to do right now,” Sophia replied, rising to put the pieces in the kitchen to see if they could be salvaged.

She didn’t mind cleaning.  This was her house, too. If she couldn’t help out every now and then, what did that say about her?  She focused on the task at hand, something she _could_ take action on, to get her mind off of the application and off of how to keep her dress an absolute secret from Vincent.  She’d desperately wanted to ask him what would happen after she took her test, what would become of them when one of two major birds was finally killed?  But instead she’d asked for his help in gathering some of her sparse jewelry to bring down so it could be cleaned, including a box of Kat’s things.

Esteban’s barking finally ceased and she heard Eugene murmuring cute phrases; she didn’t have to look to know he was now holding the pug.

She was so absorbed in sweeping up the sugar and cinnamon that she didn’t know Vincent was still in the room until she saw his shoes in the corner of her vision.  And then his knees and his hands as he took the wet towel to the milk and sugar mess, following it with a dry towel. Sophia looked up from searching for any remaining crystals of sugar or porcelain and Vincent looked up from the towel, his expression calmer than before.

She expected a quip, a tease about how quick she was to get down on her knees, but all she got was silence.  Something shifted since their return downstairs, as it seemed to so sporadically lately, and she was left wondering if she wanted to know what was going on in that head of his.  Vincent stood and helped her up with ease. His fingers brushed hers as he took the small broom and dustpan from her hands. She felt warm lips on her temple again before Vincent stepped back and left her standing alone in the living room.


End file.
